The Shape of Soldiers Hearts
by Farenheit141
Summary: David is an ONI Spartan, a cold killer. He meets Claire, a soldier who shows him a life beyond the pain. Now, to save everything he wants, he must fight everything he knew, and decide what price he must pay for his humanity- and his love.
1. Prologue: Happy Birthday

Prologue: Happy Birthday

**[5 October 2532]**

**[New York, Earth]**

**[08:30 Hours]**

Sleep slowly released little Claire Avalos. Warm in her bed, she was wondering why it was that she was so eager to get up. After all, the only thing she had to look forward to was a long day of grade school, because it was only Wednesday, the fifth of Oct-

Her birthday! She had almost forgotten her birthday! She propelled her tiny body out of her bed, down the hall, and into the kitchen of her families' apartment. "Mommy!"

Smiling, her mother stepped back from the stove and caught the small girl in her arms. Claire buried her face in her mother's jet black hair, smelling the sweet scent of her conditioner. It was beautiful.

"Happy birthday, sweetie." Her mother whispered into her ear.

"Thank you mommy." Still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Claire seated herself at the kitchen table while her mother served her favorite breakfast- Lucky Charm's cereal and toast with jam. Her mother, a die hard Argentinean, took it for granted that her only daughter preferred cold cereal over the breakfast taco's she made for herself. Claire took no notice as she dug in, asking, "What did you get me, mommy?"

"Well, if I told you sweetie, then it wouldn't be a surprise, and you wouldn't want to ruin your birthday surprise, now would you?"

Claire pursed her lips in a small pout, which was hard to do on a mouth full of cereal.

Mrs. Avalos bit back a smile and false scowled. "_Aye aye aye! _Alright, alright. We'll make a deal: you can open your cards now, you're presents after school. _Bien? _Good?"

Claire eyed the handful of shiny gifts in the center of the table. "_Si, si, gracias!" _she responded. Her mother loved it when they spoke in her "native tongue", as she called it. She couldn't deny Claire anything when she would speak in Spanish.

She picked a card off a crudely wrapped present and checked the name. "Ah, this one is from Matt."

Claire groaned. Matt Keller was her best friend, although more often than not she would completely deny even knowing him. He lived in the apartment down the hall, and had known Claire for two years. He was only about a year older than her, a lot taller, with scruffy blonde hair and laughing green eyes. They shared almost everything- their lunches, their secrets, their numerous adventures on the apartment buildings roof, and especially their numerous fights. Claire opened the card, which immediately ground out a horrible song. Claire squealed and slammed the card shut. Her mother laughed. "At least his sense of humor is alive and well."

Claire huffed. "He's just mad I beat him up yesterday."

Her mother laughed again, stroking her hair. "Beat him up? My _Chiquita? _My little girl beat up tall Matt Keller?"

"He's bigger but I'm faster." She proclaimed proudly.

"That you are." Claire's mother suddenly diverted her attention as an announcement came on the news. Claire only paid a little attention, instead tossing aside Matt's card in disgust and taking the next one. Opening it, she squealed again, this time in delight. "Mommy! I found daddy's card! I found daddy's card!" She paused, then looked towards the living room. "Mommy?"

Her mother was absorbed in the television. Claire jumped out of her seat and walked over to look at the program. On screen, the grim news anchor was reporting something about the war. She heard the words "Covenant" and "Spartan" several times. Suddenly afraid, she clung to her mothers leg. "Is it daddy, mom?"

Jack Avalos was a Staff Sergeant in the Marine Corps. His unit had been deployed to the frontlines of the war- wherever that was- almost three months ago. Her mother had cried the day he shipped out. Claire had never seen her mother cry before.

Claire looked up fearfully at her mother, but her mother shook her head and smiled, even though her eyes were shadowed. "No sweetie, its not your dad. It's just that the war is getting worse."

"Worse?"

"Much worse." Suddenly her mother squatted to her eye level. "Claire, listen to me. I know you're too young to understand this, but you have to promise me something."

"What, mommy?"

"You have to promise me that you won't join the military." Her mother said, her eyes full of concern. "You have to promise me that you won't run off to fight this war."

Claire frowned. "But daddy said that we all have to do our part. That if we don't sign up, that we're going to lose-"

"I know what he said!" Her mother snapped, eyes full of fire. Claire shut her mouth, eyes filling with tears. Her mother's eyes softened, and she pulled her daughter closer to hug her. "Don't cry, Claire. I'm sorry I snapped at you. But you have to promise me." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I've already buried your uncle, my brother. I don't want to have to one day bury you."

"I promise mommy." Claire whispered back.

"Thank you." Her mother sighed and stood up. "C'mon, lets finish up and get you off to school."

**[5 0ctober 2532]**

**[Manassas]**

**[20:32 Hours]**

"Why are you hesitating?"

He didn't answer. He just stood there, trembling and close to tears.

"Your entire life amounts to this one moment. Why are you fucking hesitating?"

"I don't know, Smiley!" He said, hating how pitifully weak his voice sounded, like a goat bleating before the knife.

"Then make the jump!"

So he did. The scrawny little eight year old jumped off the edge and into space, his hands scrabbling for the concrete ledge on the other side. Then gravity caught him, and he fell down into the pool of freezing muck below.

He came up coughing, sniveling, and crying. His scared brown eyes looked up at the evil ragged face above him. The lower half of the vagabonds face was covered with a bandana that was adorned with a hideous painted smile.

The vagabonds cold black eyes crinkled. "Sorry, Davy Boy, I guess you can't make the grade." Then he waved the stolen bag of credits playfully and disappeared, leaving the eight year old to die.

David fell back on his haunches. It was all over, that was it, there was nothing left. He had failed on his first job, and now he was credit less, slimy, smelling like a goat, and stuck at the bottom of a sewer line. Tears of self pity oozed silently down his dirty face as he stared into oblivion.

Above him, he faintly heard Smiley, the thief who had abandoned him, yell at somebody. Then somebody yelled back in response, there were gunshots, and he heard Smiley cry out in pain. The patter of footsteps approached, and a head appeared at the edge of the pit above him. "Hey, we got a kid down here!"

Before David could even grasp what was happening, a rope was lowered, a man in a dark uniform zipped down, picked him up like a sack of flour, and was hoisted back into the semi darkness of early evening. They emerged just as another man in a dark uniform was bringing Smiley around the corner of the blocked off construction site. Smiley's mask was gone, revealing a lemon puckered mouth and a small chin. He looked pale, and his knee was dark with blood.

The man holding David prodded him, calling to his partner. "Found another. This one's younger. Looks about five, six years old."

"That's the proper age." His partner called back in a strange accent. He pushed Smiley forward. Smiley, in turn, swiveled and spat on the mans boots.

The man responded with a blow that knocked Smiley to the ground. The thief lay still for a moment, then his eyes lolled and focused on David. A sick grin, crimson with flowing blood, formed on his face. "Guess we both got snitched, eh Davy Boy?"

David didn't say anything.

The man who struck Smiley looked down at him with disinterested eyes. "Take the other back to the car."

"What about that one?"

"He's too old," the man said as he took something out from behind his back. "I'll catch up to you in a second."

The man holding David roughly put him over his shoulder and carried him out of the site, towards a dark vehicle with tinted windows. David felt dizzy, his head was spinning. He couldn't muster the strength to call out for help.

Back at the construction site, two gunshots rang out, then silence.

**Hours later…**

The men had said nothing to David all during the drive. They had just deposited him into the backseat and left him alone. Once they arrived at their destination, they grabbed David and practically dragged him through a maze of hallways, before tossing him into a dark room and shutting the door behind them.

David felt strange all over. He was shivering, but his forehead felt warm. He must be sick. He might even be dreaming. He had dreamt a lot since his father had left, leaving him to fend for himself, six months ago. Dreams of escape, mostly, which was why he thought he was dreaming right now. Except that his dreams had never been this dark.

Finally, the door opened, and another man in a dark blue uniform grabbed David's hand and dragged him to another room. After throwing him in, he closed the door. David stood up on legs shaking with fatigue and fear. He looked around with wide, scared eyes.

The room he was in seemed as large as a hangar. It was filled with all sorts of hardware and equipment. Along one wall stood rows of boxes that reached the high ceiling above. Tables of weapons and ammunition lined the area adjacent to them. Taking up the opposite wall were vehicles, ones that David recognized as military cars called "Warthogs". He looked around in awe, then his eyes stopped on one item in particular.

Eyes now bright with wonder, David moved slowly towards the glass case. Pressing his nose against the cool glass, he examined the massive armor suit that lay within. He studied its intricate curves and bulky plating, from the bottom of the ham sized boots, the greaves as long as him, the chest plates that seemed as big as a table, and finally the helmet as big as a basketball. The copper tinted visor stared into infinity. The armor seemed to be ten feet tall. David was both frightened and fascinated with it.

"Amazing, isn't it?" A cold, calm voice called out from nowhere. David didn't move a muscle. To whirl around would be to show a sign of guilt, something that, in the right places, could get David killed. And he had a feeling that this was one of those places.

The voice continued. "A vision of power, one might call it. An unstoppable, unbreakable personification of the weak and vulnerable man, a dream of what we can makes ourselves into. This suit will never yield. But man…all men yield, in time. Surely this suit should belong to those who never yield, who never give up. Wouldn't you agree?"

Out of the shadows of the massive room, a lean Caucasian man emerged. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with wavy black hair, a neatly trimmed black moustache, and cold grey eyes. His features were sharp and well defined. The uniform he wore was immaculate, dark blue with small gold trimmings. An indistinct insignia was adorned on his shoulder.

David saw all of this in the reflection of the glass case. He had still not turned around to face his…kidnapper? Savior? He didn't know. Finally, he chose to respond to the man's question.

"Yeah, I guess."

The man stepped closer. "You don't know me, boy, and I don't know you. I believe we should change that." He stopped, about five feet from David. "Turn around."

The skinny boy obeyed. He found it hard to meet the cold grey eyes.

"My name is Gordon Bristow."

"Are you with the Navy?"

Bristow smiled. "Observant boy. How did you guess?"

"I saw your reflection in the glass." David pointed to the case with one tired arm. "Only Navy people wear that kind of uniform."

"Very good. Yes, I was with the Navy. I worked in the Special Warfare Division. But that is now the past. I'm too old to work in the field, so I've transferred to someplace where my skills can be put to good use. The Office of Naval Intelligence. I doubt you've heard of it."

"I have." David remembered his mother, a Marine when she was alive, talk about something called "Oh-NEE" one night, the Office of Naval Intelligence. She didn't have any kind words to say about them.

"You have? What have you heard?"

"Just the name."

"You don't know what we do."

"No." David said, then suddenly remembered something. "But she said you guys are bad news. That you can't be trusted."

"Ah yes, your mother." Bristow walked over to a table and flipped through some papers. He came back with a page and a photo. "Is this her?"

It was her, in her dress uniform. Her smile was just like he remembered. David suddenly found that the earth was shaking. No, that wasn't what it was; he was trembling.

Bristow seemed not to notice. He read off the paper. "Sergeant Katherine Ambrose, 2nd Marine Division, stationed at Reach. Served with honors on three tours of duty, declared KIA when UNSC _Macedon_ is destroyed in overwhelming Covenant attack-"

"STOP IT!" David roared, his quivering voice booming in a peculiar way. Bristow stopped reading and favored the boy with what might have been a sorrowful look.

"I'm sorry about your mother, I truly am. No doubt you loved her very much."

David couldn't speak. His eyes were blurring with tears, but he refused to look away. He found that by staring at the space between Bristow's eyes, he could focus a little more.

Suddenly the man walked towards him with frightening speed and knelt to his level. His cold grey eyes shone with a strange light. "What is your name, boy?"

"David."

"Are you afraid, David?"

No answer. David swallowed audibly.

"Do you hear me, David? Answer me, you stinking goat!"

Shame broke through the floodgates, and the tears overflowed and oozed down David's face. He made not a noise.

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"What are you afraid of, David?"

David swallowed the lump in his throat. "You, sir."

"Why?"

"Because I'm afraid you're going to hurt me."

The grey eyes softened a bit. "If you're afraid then, why don't you look away?"

David refocused and glared, channeling all his fear, emptiness, and pain into his own eyes. "Because I won't let you win sir."

Bristow smiled, more broadly this time. "_Bene_." He laid a gentle hand on David's shoulder. "What do you want David?"

_What did he want? _David hadn't thought about what he wanted for a long time. Mostly, it had been about what he _needed_- food, shelter, his father, his mother, his life back. He blinked. "I want my life back, sir."

"Your life is done with." Bristow said sternly. "Your mother is dead, your father is gone, and all that is left for you is a trail of broken memories. I wasn't asking what you wished could happen, David, I'm asking what you want. Think long and hard about it."

David sniffled. His mind tumbled over the question: _What do I want? _His thoughts gravitated back towards food, his mother's warm smile, his father's strong arms protecting him, but with effort, he pushed those away. And the more he thought about it, the more he started thinking about what he had become: a goat, afraid of his own shadow, always afraid…

He looked up. "I don't want to be afraid anymore, sir."

Bristow nodded approvingly. "Good David. That is a good thing to want." He motioned towards the armor in the glass case. "I said that this armor should belong to people who will never yield, never stop. Do you think those people exist?"

David mulled it over. All this big thinking was starting to hurt his head. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because people who would never stop would never be afraid. And everybody's always afraid of something."

"But David that is the whole point!" Bristow looked down at him with a pained expression. "The people who deserve this armor are just as afraid as anyone else. The difference is that they push forward regardless of their fear. They know how to control their fear. Isn't that what you would want? To control your fear, instead of allowing it to control you?"

David nodded dumbly. It must have been midnight and his eyes were heavy with sleepiness. All he wanted was to go to sleep. Bristow recognized this.

"You're tired David. I see that. You will sleep here tonight, if you wish. There is a bed, and a nightlight. But first David, I want to know: do you want to be a person who can use this armor?"

David eyed the massive suit. "Yes. Yes sir."

"The people who use this armor are real, David. They are called Spartans. They were just like you once, but they were made stronger, faster, tougher than anybody else."

"How?"

"Through years of training. That is something you need to understand David. If you choose to become a Spartan, you must trek a road with many hardships on it. You will be pushed to the breaking point, to where you believe you will die of the pain you feel. But you will not die; like a phoenix, you will emerge from the ashes stronger than before. You will be the best humanity has to offer. You will be unstoppable." Bristow clapped him on the shoulders and stared deeply into the scared brown eyes.

"So, David, will you yield? Or will you become a Spartan?"

David thought it over, then nodded slowly. "I want to become a Spartan."

Bristow smiled.

"Then let us begin."


	2. Chapter 1: The Final Act

Chapter 1: The Final Act of Tom Cat and Jerry Mouse

**[4 April 2548]**

**[UNSC colony Agricola, Hydra System]**

**[11:55 Hours]**

It was a bright cold day in the abandoned city. The pale sun beat down without care, illuminating the gray buildings and black streets. Even under the harsh blue sky, everything seemed colorless.

Atop one building, a sparrow sat in blissful ignorance of the deathly silence around it, simply enjoying the faint sunshine on its feathers. It was startled as a hawk, large and deadly, landed on the concrete railing next to it. For a moment the sparrow looked as if it was about to take flight, but then it stopped, eyeing the much larger scavenger bird with something like curiosity. The hawk, as if realizing it was under scrutiny, ruffled its feathers importantly, and eyeing the ground below it, searched for prey. The sparrow hopped a bit closer to the hawk, and the hawk, tired of the game, lunged toward the sparrow. The sparrow, startled again, did not take flight, but stared at the hawk levelly.

Suddenly both birds, spooked by something only they could sense, took flight, and all was dead silent again. A moment later, however, a human voice broke the silence.

"De-cloak."

Out of thin air, a dozen individuals appeared. They were human soldiers, most short and small in figure, clothed in sleek dark green body armor with large wraparound visors and lightweight padding. The only exception was the leader, an imposing seven foot warrior in a heavy armor suit, black as midnight. His helmet was rigid and bulky, with a small boomerang shaped visor.

This terrifying soldier walked to the edge of the roof and picked up a handful of crumbs, shook them in his hand. One of the smaller soldiers walked to his side. "What do you think sir?"

The leader crushed the crumbs in his palm and wiped his hands. "They were here alright."

"Thought same, sir." The soldier raised his rifle arm to the east. "Looks like they went in a big circle, stopped here, and doubled back."

The leader's hand sought the back of his head. "Yeah. Why?"

"I can't tell, sir."

The leader laid a gloved hand on his scout's shoulder. "Then get back in fucking formation, Sergeant, and stay there awhile. I need to think."

The scout nodded slowly. "Yes sir." He moved back to converse quietly with his teammates while the squad leader looked up to the sky.

He spoke, seemingly to nothing. "So, Celsius, what do you think?

The voice that answered, emanating from his helmet's own speakers, was clear and cool. "Do you want my tactical assessment or personal opinion?"

"Both."

"…Well, my tactical assessment says that they're moving in incoherent overlapping "pattern-less" patterns."

"And your personal opinion?"

"They're playing with you." The AI in his helmet finished half grimly, half ironically.

"Hmm. Wouldn't be the first time."

"Yes, but if you keep like this, it might be the last."

"Spoken like a true fatalist."

"Spoken like a true realist." She retorted. "Normally I wouldn't be against you getting ambushed by them, but considering you've got a squad in you care and an AI in your head, I'd rather you not take that chance."

"Noted. But we're not going to find them up here." He turned back to his team and made a twirling motion in the air, signaling them to move out.

"Sergeant Lee, take point."

"Yes sir." Lee-G139, a SPARTAN-III, and a platoon of his brethren "mass produced" SPARTAN-III's had been commandeered by ONI to conduct covert operations under the direction of various squad leaders. Most had been ONI operatives, some ODST's, a few NAVSPECWAR veterans, but this current one was special. This one was an anomaly.

Some people said he was a Spartan rejected by Dr. Halsey for the II series and was subsequently taken in by ONI. Some said he was a clone that beat the odds and grew into a fully developed Spartan. Some said he was a Marine so badly scarred from plasma burns, he had joined ONI and got a hold of a MJOLNIR suit to keep him alive. Some even said he was a soldier declared legally dead, then somehow came back to life with all the strength and skills of a Spartan super soldier.

David let the rumors circulate. On a subliminal level, he loved them. Even Spartans have a certain ego, and these rumors of ghosts and clones fed David's.

He would never tell anyone the truth: that he was a street rat from the slums of Reach, chosen by a flip of fate's coin to become a Spartan. And not even a true blue "Halsey" Spartan. No, he was the jet black "Bristow series" Spartan. Gordon Bristow, who after Halsey's funding was cut by HIGHCOM, secretly adopted the plans and the equipment needed, and began to select and train Spartans of his own, for ONI use.

The David who stared at the cold blue sky was not the same person from sixteen years before. His emaciated child's body had matured, strengthened, grown, from both puberty and augmentation. He was now six foot six out of his armor, two hundred twenty pounds even, with a proper bulge in his muscles and broadness in his chest and back. He was leaner, rangier, a little less imposing than other SPARTAN-II's, but in turn he was more agile and had more endurance than his contemporaries.

His mind too had matured, grown. He saw things as they were, and then some, not just because he was an adult, but because he had an edge over other SPARTANS.

He was educated.

It had all been Bristow's doing. As soon as David was twelve, as soon as he knew how to read, write, do basic algebra and geometry, Bristow had begun giving literature to the fledging SPARTAN. He had started easy, with _To Kill a Mockingbird_ and _The Art of War_, then steadily progressed until David saw not just black and white in life, but gray. A lot of gray.

The source of this gray lay in David's duty at ONI: being the leading field operator of its "Asymmetric Warfare" Department. It was a dirty tricks division, headed by Bristow himself, which specialized in one thing: killing and demoralizing Covenant.

The project began nearly twenty years before, around the time Bristow joined ONI. Its purpose was to conduct covert operations against Covenant forces. Its real purpose was to use unsanctioned methods to spread terror throughout the Covenant ranks. Assassinations, sabotage, shock and awe, genocide- all of that was fair game. And David was at the forefront of it all.

At fifteen he had sniped an Elite artillery commander during a tank battle, disrupting the Covenant tanks. At eighteen he had used broken Covenant vehicles and false radio traffic spread by his AI partner Celsius to draw out and kill patrols on an occupied planet. At twenty-three he had booby trapped old human frigates and detonated them when curious Covenant patrols came nearby.

Now, at twenty-four, David was leading a group of SPARTAN-III's on a hunter-killer mission. The target was an elite Spec-Ops commando. David knew the bastards name: Iras Peccamee.

He and Iras had been hunting one another for nearly five years. The situation was this: David was a killer, Iras was a killer. Everything David had done, Iras had responded in kind. He had orchestrated the successful artillery strike against a crowded human city, he had killed a ranking Marine general during a prolonged moon campaign, and he had executed human prisoners and sent footage to the UNSC. He and David had confronted each other three times, both surviving all three encounters.

The last occasion had been close. David had walked away with broken ribs, a broken jaw, one less pinky, and a badly burned shoulder. Iras had limped away with one less mandible and one less eyeball.

_Probably came out on top that time_, he thought as he examined his four fingered left hand.

Now Iras was here on Agricola, a farming colony with a metropolis at its center. The metropolis had been evacuated weeks ago, thanks to some crafty intelligence decrypting on Celsius's part. Iras was prowling around, and so was David.

Two clicks signaled on David's HUD. Lee the scout had spotted something. They had emerged into a small public square, five entrances, and five exits. David sent a signal to the rest of the team, ordering them to halt, then opened a comm. channel with Lee. "What is it?"

"Big squad. At least half a dozen Elites, twice more Grunts, plus change. A lot of tracks."

"And?"

"Tracks have doubled back on themselves."

"Right." David responded. _Doubled back on themselves. What are you doing Iras? What game are you playing?_

That's when the twelve Elites and eighteen Grunts de-cloaked in front of the squad, spread out in a parade style line. All were garbed in the space black armor of the Spec-Ops. A deep guttural voice called out in broken English, "David. Show yourself."

David gave the second signal, and he and his twelve SPARTAN-III's also de-cloaked. David stepped up to the front of the formation, motioning Lee to move back. He called out to the gang of Covenant Spec-Ops, "Iras?"

A larger, older elite emerged in the middle. Even from a distance, one could tell he was one mandible short, one eye shy from a full set. His massive powerful frame bore a whole menagerie of scars and wounds. An inactivated energy sword was grasped in his right claw. He smiled the terrible Elite smile. "David. Is this what you brought to die? A handful of runts fresh off the teat?"

Several of the Grunts on the Covenant side shifted and muttered to themselves.

David responded calmly, self assuredly. "C'mon Iras. We said the next time we'd meet, it'd be on a battlefield full of warriors." He waved an arm grandly to his row of SPARTAN-III's. "My warriors all measure up. I hope_ your_ nipple sucking peons can say the same."

Several Grunts and Elites growled angrily. Several of the S-III's giggled on the public comm. channel.

David switched the channel to Lee. "What do you think Sergeant?"

Lee's voice was cold and emotionless. "I say that if this is where it ends, we ought to take down these shits with us."

"Good boy."

Iras analyzed the meager line of humans versus his own platoon of Covenant warriors. Finally he nodded. "Good." He activated his sword. On cue, all of the Elites activated theirs, and he addressed them. "All Elites, use your blades. The sub-Spartans you can have, but leave the tall one in black for me. Grunts…"

David had checked his suits HUD, and switched the primary function to armor lock. He muttered rapid instructions to his team. "Switch to close quarters weapons now. Elites will charge with swords, Grunts will throw grenades. Lee, Deacon, Tobias, focus on the Grunts. Everyone else drop those Elites before they get within kissing distance. Toss frag's at any opportunity." He paused. "Good luck everybody."

"Good luck." They whispered back.

"David?" His AI Celsius whispered.

"What?"

"Good news is that I detect no other Covenant in the area."

"Bad news?"

"A Covenant fleet detachment just arrived. One capital ship with a few smaller cruisers. They're already deploying landing parties."

"Doesn't matter." David said shortly.

"I'm just saying, if you survive…"

"You know the odds better than I do." David drummed his fingers on the two SMG's holstered on his hips. "Celsius?"

"Yeah?"

"It's been a pleasure."

"Ditto."

Iras was calling. "David?"

"Yes?"

"Before we start, I have a question."

"What is it?"

Iras was no longer grinning. His single eye held nothing but curiosity. "If you win, kill me, what will you do?"

The question didn't register. "What do you mean?"

"I'm dead, you live, what will you do? We've hunted each other five years, all of it a game. I'm your last worthy enemy. When I'm dead, how will you live? Kill nameless Covenant, no other reason to live? Fight for people who hate you, fear you?" The Elite smiled smugly. "I understand you; now, game's all over. What will you do?"

_His English is getting better,_ David thought. He also thought, deep down, that the squid headed bastard was right.

But all he did was roll his shoulders, and face his visor squarely in the Elites direction. "Me, I don't know what I'll do," he said truthfully as he un holstered one submachine gun. He pointed directly at Iras with the muzzle of his gun as he drew the second with his left hand. "You, thank whoever it is that you pray to that you don't have to share my fate." Arms akimbo, weapons in hand, David stood in the middle of his SPARTAN's, and tightened his trigger fingers.

Iras smiled, sadly. "Good." Then he uttered a roar and hurled a bright blue glowing object at David. Cries of "plazzy!" and "disperse!" erupted as David knelt down and activated the armor lock. Instantly, the shields on his custom MJOLNIR armor flared to five times their normal strength. The plasma grenade stuck, detonated, and knocked David to the ground. A second later, he had flipped to his feet, raised his submachine guns, and fired into the crowd of charging Elites.

**[4 April 2548]**

**[UNSC Colony Agricola, Hydra System]**

**[12:00 Hours]**

Sergeant Claire Avalos stopped in her tracks and glanced up to the sky. Through her ODST VISR, she noticed two birds taking flight suddenly, about a quarter of a mile away. She motioned for her squad. "Hey, Atwood?"

The short ODST next to her shifted. "What's up?"

She aimed her rifle. "You see those birds? They were startled by something."

The ODST aimed down his sniper rifle, shrugged. "Probably nothing.You okay, Sergeant? You seem a bit tense."

_More than you know, _Claire thought to herself. Outwardly, she growled, "No more than usual, Corporal. Now keep moving."

Truth be told, Claire Avalos was tense. Tense, and tired of being tense. The root of this tension wasn't one singular thing, but was a whole number of things, spread out like the roots of a big ass tree of tension.

First there was her mother. At six Claire had promised her mother she wouldn't join the Marines and go off to die in a losing war. At eighteen she had broken that promise and joined the Marines, and she hadn't spoken to her mother since then. That was four years ago- six years since her father had been declared MIA.

The reason she joined the Marines was the root of her second point of tension: Matt Keller, her former best friend and even one time boyfriend. They had dated steadily throughout high school, then came graduation, where Matt decided to become "Hero of the UNSC" and join the Marines. Two years later she had followed him, right into the 105th ODST division. They had exchanged a few heated words- a lot of heated words- and three months later Matt had disappeared. Transferred out of the Division and dropped off the face of the galaxy. Claire, on her part, was too pissed off to chase after him.

That brought her to tension root number three: turns out, after getting over Matt, she had turned out to be a highly competent ODST. So competent, HIGHCOM saw fit to make her Sergeant and giver her command of her own squad. The composition of this squad was this:

**Claire Avalos, 22, reluctant squad leader and rifleman**

** Corporal Dax Atwood, 20, motor mouthed sniper**

** Private First Class Wolfgang Schaefer, 23 hulking and somber grenadier**

** Lance Corporal Pierce Vinson, 19, taciturn newcomer and medic**

** Private First Class Katy Rawlings, 21, chatty rifleman, tough as nails lifer, and…**

"Jeez Sarge, no offense, but, what's up your butt?"

**Claire's new **(potty mouthed)** best friend**

Underneath her helmet, Claire grinned. "You mean, besides your usual brand of rainbow and sunshine vomit?"

Besides being chatty, Katy was regarded as the most good natured of the squad- which was not saying much.

"You still twisting over that jackass Keller? Forget about him, Claire, there's a million other fish in the sea."

"I don't want a million, I just want one." Claire frowned as another bird took flight. "And once upon a time, I thought Matt might be 'the one'."

Katy was silent for an unusually long time. "You're serious?"

_Yes, _thought Claire. "Nah, just fucking with ya."

Both soldiers started cracking up until Schaefer, at the rear of the squad, growled, "Hey, no offense Sarge, but you want the entire Covenant advance force on our case?"

Katy snorted. "With respect, Schaefer, we haven't seen a single thing since we arrived. The city was abandoned weeks ago. Why would the Covenant come here?"

"Doesn't matter." Schaefer said shortly. "They're here now, which means we have a job to do. And that job doesn't involve laughing like a bunch of ditzy high school girls, Sarge."

"At least our panties aren't in a twist." Claire said aloud.

"My panties aren't in a twist. I made sure to use fabric softener.

The squad laughed. Katy giggled and Claire sighed.

"Alright guys, shut your mouths, open your eyes, and keep moving."

"Listen to you," Katy muttered. "Trying to make yourself out to be the big bad squad leader."

"Yeah, I'm a slave to appearances." Claire muttered back. She scanned the area ahead of her and above her but spotted nothing but air. _Why would the Covenant come here?_

They had not gone fifty meters when birds of all shapes and sizes took flight. In the distance, gunfire echoed through the abandoned streets.

The entire squad dropped to one knee, weapons up and heads cocked to listen. "What the hell is that?" Katy said to no one in particular.

"Beats me." Claire couldn't make out any individual weapon, but she heard the distinctive whine of plasma weapons.

"Sounds like somebody ran into some Covenant." Atwood murmured

Claire growled. "You're grasp of the obvious is inspiring." She keyed his comm. "Bravo 2-A, this is Bravo 2-B. We have shots fired in sector…Kilo One-One. Do you know of any friendly units in that sector, over?"

There was a burst of static, and then the gravelly voice of their company commander, Captain Ross, responded. "Negative 2-B. I didn't send anybody to Kilo One-One. What does it sound like, over?"

"I hear human and Covenant weapons, sir. Sounds like a big firefight."

"Roger that. 2-B, haul ass and check out the situation. We are en route and will meet you there. Keep your eyes peeled. Over and out."

"Understood, 2-A. We are Oscar Mike." Claire shut off the channel and turned back to her squad. "You heard the man. Let's get over there!"

The team broke into a run and began moving quickly down the side alley ways. The gunfire got louder as they closed in on the sector, so that Claire could begin to make out the staccato of Battle rifle fire and steady grating of SMG bursts. Strangely, there was little plasma fire to return. "Sounds almost like…"

"Yo, friendlies on your six!"

Claire whirled around and tripped.

An ODST with a red band on his shoulder helped the Sergeant up. " Hello, Sergeant Avalos. Glad you could join us."

Claire shifted, then saluted. "Captain Ross, sir!"

Captain Anthony Ross depolarized his visor, revealing calm blue eyes and a neatly trimmed brown beard. Among ODST veterans, he was known for his laconic, almost lackadaisical way of leading his troops. He commanded respect and authority through self assuredness and brutal wit. "Fights on the other side of this brush." He motioned forward. "By your leave, Bravo 2-B."

Somewhat embarrassed, Claire motioned her squad forward. They crept through the thick overgrown hedge and emerged on the other side of the hill, with a clear view into the city square below them, and a clear view of the square below.

The gunfire had ceased.

"Oh my God…" Katy gasped. Several ODSTs murmured agreement.

"Is this for real…?"

"Jesus, it looks like a goddamn massacre…"

"Anyone recording this…?"

The square was indeed the scene of a massacre. Bodies, both human and Covenant, littered the ground, red blood mixing with cobalt fluid and bright blue gel. Grunts lay in mangled heaps, Elites and humans lay where they fell, locked in death grips even as rigor mortis began to set in. Everything was dead, everything except two combatants in the middle of it all.

Struck dumb, the ODSTs watched as two figures, one a massive hulking Elite, the second a slightly smaller human, grapple in a brutal hand-to-hand battle. They traded blows amidst the blood pools of their fallen comrades, oblivious to the carnage surrounding them or to the soldiers watching them on the hill. They were panting, wounded, locked in a grim death struggle.

"Sergeant, why are you standing there like a tree stump…?" Captain Ross and his squad pushed through and saw the two gladiators in the square below them. "Oh my."

Claire motioned dumbly. "Sir, what the hell…?"

"Your guess is as good as mine Sergeant. For once, I'm struck speechless."

The soldiers could only watch as the Elite and his human opponent fight back and forth through their little cage in the square center. The Elite grabbed the human by his helmet, and slammed his knee into his chest. He reared back and twisted the humans arm, but the human squirmed and landed two kicks in the alien's abdomen, then knocked him away with one blow. As he straightened to continue the onslaught, the light caught him, and the ODSTs let out a collective gasp.

"Jesus, is that…?"

"No way, that can't be…"

"I'm dreaming this shit…too many painkillers damn it…"

Claire couldn't believe her eyes. "Helljumper's," she murmured, "I believe that is a Spartan."

David was mad.

He had tried to aim for Iras in the opening moments of the fight, but the charging Elites had hindered his aim, and so he settled his sights on the first squid chinned mother he could find, and hosed the alien until his shields broke and his body fell, riddled with bullets.

The SPARTAN-III's roared battle cries, chucked grenades, and met the Elites head on. Lee and two others stayed back, using their Battle Rifles to pick off Grunts and weaken shields. The rest hurled themselves into the Elites.

It was gruesome.

One S-III was sliced in half as he tried to shoot an Elite. The Elite who did the slicing was rewarded with an 8-gauge shotgun shell to the face by another Spartan. One Spartan lost an arm to an Elite, and was stabbed through the chest. Two Spartans tackled an Elite, wrestled him to the ground, and stabbed him with his own sword.

Another Elite beheaded a Spartan, then was attacked from behind by a Spartan who climbed on his back and began yanking off his mandibles. A severely wounded Spartan primed a frag grenade and leapt onto a group of Grunts, blowing them all sky high. Blood of all colors rained down like a hideous storm.

David saw all this, but it barely registered as he waded through the crush. He sprayed an Elite with SMG fire, wounding him, and allowed Lee to finish him with a BR burst to the face. He dodged a sword swing from another Elite, slammed the SMG butt into the creatures chest, knocking him to the ground, and slammed his boot into the aliens head, crushing the skull. He fired full auto into a crowd of Grunts, bowling them over with sheer firepower, then when his guns rang empty, flipped them in his hands and used them as clubs to quickly maim and kill a young Elite who swung his sword like a madman.

His shields flared as a glancing blow from a plasma pistol depleted them by half. He turned and punted the offending Grunt away, feeling satisfied as he heard the little aliens spine snap. That's when he saw a blur of black, and his shields dropped completely as he barely dodged Iras's blow. Alarms screaming in his head, he charged at Iras, ducked as he swung his sword, and rained down a series of blows using his SMG clubs. The Elite grunted and burned the air as he swung his sword again, cutting through one of the clubs. David grunted as the alien punched him in the stomach, the blow registering even through the armor. He dropped his SMGs, grabbed the Elites sword arm, and snapped the wrist.

The alien screamed and swung his hind leg, tripping David. Unfortunately, he was still holding Iras, so both fell. Immediately, Iras rolled on top and bore down on David, crushing him with three hundred pounds of scarred muscle. David head butted the Elite, rolled to his feet, and charged.

What had started as a duel degenerated into an all out brawl to the death. And both fighters were just getting started.

Claire could still not believe her eyes. Below her an Elite and a Spartan were fighting to the death, oblivious to the humans above them. Faintly, she could hear the grunts and curses of pain as they tussled.

_A goddamn Spartan…_

Truth be told, Claire didn't know much about Spartans. Until last year, they had been officially "non-existent". Then all of a sudden, the military comes clean with a secret program that produced genetically altered commandos armed with advanced technologies. These commandos's quickly became poster boys for the entire war effort. Any time one showed up, the odds of winning went up significantly.

The only part that Claire cared about was the last part. The rest of that stuff about Spartans…inconsequential.

The Spartan in question was strange looking. Most Spartans Claire had seen fought in small groups, wore bulky olive green armor, and were on the frontlines, where they could be easily seen.

This one was alone, on a deserted colony, fighting hand to hand with an Elite. His armor was space black. He looked a little slimmer, a little less bulky than other Spartans Claire had seen. Somehow, this made him seem even more dangerous.

She was startled out of her thoughts by Atwood, who was lying prone, aiming down his rifle scope. "Captain Ross. I have a shot!"

The Elite had straddled the prostrate Spartan, and was bashing his head against the pavement. Suddenly, the Spartan slammed a hand into the creature's jugular, and knocked him aside with a brutal right hook.

Captain Ross growled. "You miss, you hit the Spartan- and I don't want to even imagine what kind of court marshal you'd get."

Claire broke in. "Well, sir, we can't just sit here and do nothing!"

"You're abs-i-tively right, Sergeant. Take your squad and my squad and help your poor human brother down there. Atwood, you stay here with me. You even think of shooting, and I'll cut off your trigger finger so fast your ring finger won't even have time to say good-bye."

Claire motioned to the two squads and led them towards the duo still grappling below them. She shouldered her rifle and moved quickly.

As the two teams closed in on the combatants, the Elite decked the Spartan with a vicious blow to the abdomen. He then grabbed the soldier by the throat and used him as a meat shield, trying to hide his bulk behind the black armored warrior. The Spartans head lolled. He seemed to be unconscious.

"Drop him, squid chin!" Katy roared. Schaefer chambered a shell in his shotgun.

The Elite didn't respond. He seemed to be whispering to the Spartan.

David rolled again to his feet, dizzy and disoriented. His head ached, his ribs felt cracked, and somehow his mouth was bleeding. Shaking his head to clear his vision, he swung his fist into Iras's mandibles, feeling a satisfying squash. The elite responded with a punch that knocked the wind out of the Spartan.

Hoisting him upright, Iras wrapped his claws around David's throat, trying to jerk his head up. Through fading vision, David saw a dozen soldiers in black armor start to surround him. A voice yelled, "Drop him, squid chin!"

Iras leaned close to David's head. "What do you see, David?" He whispered.

Three soldiers aimed their weapons at him. David could see one, an ODST smaller than the others with feminine curves showing through her armor, cock her head at him, as if studying him. "Elysium," David gasped.

"What?"

"Warrior's paradise." David responded weakly.

"Hmmm, sounds nice. Let's go there. Both of us." The claws tightened around his throat.

David didn't respond, but grit his teeth. Fighting the blackness eating at his vision, he summoned the last of his strength, then brutally elbowed the Elite in his belly, doubled over, turned one-eighty degrees, and hurled the heavy alien away a good five feet. The ODST's surrounding him shifted their aim.

David held up his hand and tried to speak.

"**No! Don't! He's mine**."

The Spartan's voice sounded choked but was clear. Schaefer and Rawlings glanced at him, unsure, but he shoved roughly past them. Claire moved closer too.

The Spartan, when the Elite had been holding him, had sensed her staring at him, even though her visor had been polarized. He had looked up to stare back, and Claire almost wished he hadn't.

Painted over the boomerang visor and layered faceplate of the Spartan's helmet was an evil looking smiley face. The sweep around chin guard had a crooked jack o' lantern smile, complete with bared white fangs. The visor had no eyes painted on it, but the entire faceplate was painted an eerie golden-yellow, distinctive and terrifying.

It looked a bit like one of those "Smiley" faces that were all the rage back on Earth.

The Spartan walked over to the Elite, but the Elite suddenly sprang up, a Marine's Combat Knife in his claw. He darted out, and the Spartan clutched at his shoulder. Blood began spilling.

The two fell to the ground, scrabbling for the knife. The Elite got the upper hand, the knife was poised, but just as Claire, Schaefer, and Rawlings were about to fire, the Spartan rolled over, the knife disappeared, and the Elite roared- a dying roar of defeat.

David reached Iras just as the latter sprang up and sank a combat knife between the plates of his MJOLNIR armor. He bore down on David, trying to stab him again. His face was inches away from the Spartan's faceplate, his breath clouding his visor.

Then David head butted the elite. As the alien reared back, David grabbed the combat knife, rolled over, and jammed the knife deep into the Elite's belly. As Iras's eye bulged and he roared in rage, David angled the knife up, and stabbed deeper. The roar tapered off into a dying groan, then silence.

The Spartan detached himself from his opponent, and rose to one knee, panting. He looked down at Iras's face. The Elite's eye was glazed, he already looked dead, but as if he sensed something, he shifted his gaze. David depolarized his visor, and locked eyes with his dying opponent.

The Elites claw shifted, scrambling for something. Instinctively, David grasped the bloodstained claw in his own armored gauntlet. The elite bared his mandibles in a smile. "So…the game…is over."

Behind his visor, David smiled sadly. Below him was a squid headed alien bent on humanity's destruction. Below him was also his last worthy opponent, one of the few beings that understood him, accepted him even, for what he was.

He gave the claw a squeeze, even ran his second hand over the Elite's battered helmet. "It'll soon be over."

"For me, yes." Iras coughed painfully, spurting blood. "For you, no."

"You're right." David agreed. "Go; go to Elysium, the warriors' paradise." He could feel the Elite's life force fading. "I'm only sorry you'll have to make the journey alone."

Iras nodded. "Finish it."

David started, then didn't move. The hand that held the combat knife was trembling.

Iras laid his claw over the knife's hilt. "If you are true Spartan, then you will…" His sentence was cut off with a sudden intake of breath as David yanked out the knife and stabbed him again, this time through the heart.

In his armored hand, the claw went limp, then fell to the ground. David shut the single staring eye, and stood up. In his head, the AI Celsius was saying something. He shook his head, and listened.

"…arrived on scene about two hours ago, David. I don't know how I missed their chatter. They heard the gunfire and moved in to investigate…"

"Whoa, whoa, Celsius, slow down. What's the problem?"

"The ODST's, numbskull." Celsius concluded dryly. "Try looking behind you."

David looked back.

As the Elite lay dying, the Spartan knelt beside it and seemed to speak to it. He even held the beasts claw, stroked its head. Then he swiftly stabbed it through the heart, shook his head, and turned back.

Claire started. The Spartans visor was depolarized, and sharp brown eyes analyzed the ODSTs spread out before him, before finally settling on her. Embarrassed, she was grateful that her own visor was polarized, so he couldn't see her eyes.

Then the Spartan sort of shrugged, re polarized his visor, and folded his arms across his chest. The ragged wound from where the Elite had stabbed him bled freely. His jet black armor was stained blue, red, and cobalt. He looked terrifying and untouchable. And he was waiting for them to make the first move.

Everyone jumped as Captain Ross began clapping. The veteran ODST stepped forward, slapping his hands together slowly, ironically. He spoke, his voice cool and gravelly. "Impressive show, son."

The Spartan didn't move. "Thank you, sir." His voice was low and calm.

"What's your name and rank, trooper?"

"Chief Petty Officer First Class Spartan-009, sir." The Spartan rattled off the ID as if he had done it a million times before.

"Hmmm. You're a long way from home, Petty Officer."

"Aren't we all, sir?" This statement had a faint touch of irony to it.

To everyone's surprise, the Captain laughed, a deep belly laugh. "Spoken like a veteran campaigner." He stepped forward and offered his hand to the Spartan. The Petty Officer accepted the hand cautiously, and shook slowly. The laughing cut off suddenly, and the Captain depolarized his visor, scrutinizing the soldier. "Spartan-009? We haven't heard of you, son."

"I'm not surprised sir. I operate under ONI jurisdiction. Most of my operations are covert."

Every ODST tensed up at the mention of the Office of Naval Intelligence. Claire stiffened. Intelligence was generally known to be both devious and cold blooded. _What the hell is ONI doing here?_

Captain Ross seemed to share the Private's thoughts. He scrutinized the Spartan again, and then took a step back. "ONI. Humph. I'm only surprised that I'm not surprised."

The Spartan seemed confused. "Sir?"

The ODST Captain folded his arms across his chest. "You're probably used to shooting first and answering questions later, Chief, but right now you're facing a ranking soldier. And this ranking soldier would very much like to know what in the pluperfect hell ONI is doing on this planet?"

The Spartan also folded his arms. Face covered by his visor, the only answer he offered was in the grotesque smile painted on his chin.

"Spartan," the Captain said quietly, "now I'm gonna ask you one more goddamned time, and if you maintain your disrespectful silence, me and my Helljumper's are going to incapacitate you and knock that fucking smile right off your face."

"You couldn't do that even if you tried sir." The Spartan retorted coldly.

Claire noticed that the Spartan's arms dropped to his sides, and that his feet shifted, half entering a combat stance. The ODSTs half raised their rifles. Claire's finger tightened around the trigger of her MA5. She held her breath.

Then Captain Ross smiled. "You know what? You're right, Chief. You're right as fucking rain. But your pugnacious statement has put my Helljumper's on edge, and when they get on edge they tend to start shooting. Now, I think we need to defuse the situation," he said, holding up his arms in a sign of peace. "We need to cool down. We all need to be a big bunch of ice cubes right now. And what are ice cubes, people?"

"Cool?" Rawlings piped up.

"Correct-uh-mundo, Private Rawlings." He turned back to the Petty Officer. "Are you an ice cube right now, Spartan?"

"Yes sir." His voice sounded as cold as an ice cube.

"Good. Now, then, I want you to be cool, and humor an old, weary ODST. What were you doing here, on ONI's orders?"

The Spartan turned back and nudged the Elite's corpse with his toe. "Hunter-Killer operation. We were looking for this… one Elite. Spec-Ops veteran, a real hard liner. He's the one responsible for General Krieger's death back in '46, and a lot of other stuff besides."

Captain Ross moved over to examine the hulking cadaver. "Ah, so this is the fucker. Or what's left of him. Looks like you did a number on him."

"This isn't the first time we've met." The Spartan took a long look at the Elite before turning away. "Intel said he would be scouring this planet looking to stir up hell. I put a team together and tracked him down."

"'Tracked down', might be putting it lightly." Ross said. "This place looks like a goddamn massacre, Chief."

The Spartan observed the carnage that was once his team. "Yeah." He picked up the combat knife from where it had fallen, and holstered it. "My squad was made up of SPARTAN-III's. You might have heard of them."

"Yeah, sure, I have." Captain Ross examined the disembodied head of one such Spartan. "Mass produced suicide troops, if memory serves correctly."

"Yes sir. ONI commandeered a platoon from one company to serve under my command." He paused as he looked down at the disembodied head. "They were willing to serve. They liked the way I described this operation."

"Oh? And how, pray tell, did you describe it?"

"A suicide mission."

"Well I'd sure as hell agree!" Schaefer broke in. Every ODST looked at him, startled; this was not his style. He barged dangerously close to the much taller Spartan. "From what we see, big guy, you led your entire fucking team into a goddamn ambush, and got the whole fucking lot of them killed…"

The Spartan silently took the verbal abuse, but shifted when one of the medics called. He was examining one of the SPARTAN-III's lying on the ground. "Not all them. This one's still alive."

"Ditto on this one over here," another ODST called from a short distance away.

The Spartan brushed past Schaefer, shoving him aside with enough force to knock him on his ass. Beneath her helmet, Claire couldn't help but smile.

David knelt beside Lee's bloody form and grasped his hand. "Lee?" he whispered.

The smaller Spartan stirred weakly. His shoulder was a bloody mess. "Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"Did we get the bastard?"

"Yeah, Lee, we got him."

"Good." His hand relaxed, and the medic began tending to his shoulder. "I'd like to take my shore leave now."

David smiled. "You'll have to settle for a MED EVAC." Then he moved to the next wounded S-III, this one cradling a left arm that was missing its hand. David recognized the petite form as Private Jennifer-G089. He laid a hand on her shoulder. The Private looked up, then using her one good hand, traced a smile on her visor, the Spartan Smile. David responded by tapping his chin, returning the smile.

"You okay?"

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"After this, you and me should get some R&R. You know, I'm just saying."

David laughed. It sounded like the cough of a sick dog. "Let's get you out of here first." He glanced over his shoulder. "Is that possible, Captain? Can we get a MED-EVAC?"

"Maybe, if I can contact our ship." Ross keyed his headset. "Bravo Company to _Wolfs Sun_, Bravo to _Wolfs Sun_, do you copy?"

There was a burst of static, then nothing.

"That's not inspiring."

"Hang on sir." David stepped up. "I have an AI locked into my hard suit. Maybe she'll have better luck."

"An AI? ONI has really pulled out all the stops for you, haven't they?"

_Only the best for Admiral Bristow's baby boy, _David thought. Outwardly, he said, "Yes sir." He spoke inside his own helmet. "What do you say, Celsius?"

"Gee, I don't know, David," she said sweetly. "Maybe if you said the magic word…"

"Please, Celsius."

"Right, hang on." Celsius hummed to herself as she accessed the public battle net and sifted through thousands of reports in nanoseconds. After a moment she stopped. "Oh no."

"What is it?"

"According to the Covenant assault groups radio chatter, they encountered the UNSC _Wolfs Sun_ about twenty minutes ago."

"And?" Captain Ross cut in.

"Apparently, she initiated a Slipspace jump and left the system. A few cruisers were sent after her, but the main body is still orbiting Agricola. They've deployed roughly…six hundred ground troops. And in about ten minutes, they'll be landing all over this city."

There was silence over the public comm. channel as Celsius's words sunk in. The ODSTs glanced at one another. Their fear was evident even through their visors.

Captain Ross ripped off his helmet, running hands through black hair that was already going gray at the temples. "Helljumper's! School circle, now!"

The twenty-four or so marines, save those who were tending to the two wounded S-III's, gathered around their leader. David backed off and stood behind the captain.

"Alright boys and girls, we have a situation on our hands. The _Wolfs Sun_ has gone AWOL, Covenant are closing in, and we are right in their path."

Rawlings spoke up. "So, Captain, you're basically saying we're the definition of 'Fucked'?"

The ODST's laughed nervously.

"No, Private Rawlings, we are not the definition of fucked. We are, in fact, about to prove that an immovable object trumps an unstoppable force."

The laughter cut off. Ross dropped his helmet and faced his troops.

"We are in the right place at the right time. The right place and right time for what? To give the Covenant every kinds of hell that we can." He glared squarely at his troops. "Don't tell me that none of you have spent your precious winks of sleep dreaming of friends, family, lovers you lost to the Covenant, and didn't wish that you had the chance to show those genocidal motherfuckers the kind of pain you felt?"

The ODSTs murmured agreement.

Ross continued. "We all have at one time or another dreamt those dreams, and today, I tell you, we will all get a chance to give the Covenant some of that payback we've been dying to give. And we will give it _in spades_." His glare grew stronger. "Soooound…good?"

"SIR YES SIR!" The ODSTs bellowed.

"That's what I thought." Picking up his helmet, Ross replaced it on his head. As an afterthought, he added, "Besides, boys and girls, we have nothing to worry about. An honest-to-god Spartan is among us. The Covenant will all aim for him."

That brought a hearty laugh out of the entire platoon, except for Claire. She only watched the Spartan…David, was his name? as he stood back. He had quickly found two SMG's and a Battle Rifle, and was now standing apart from the group, arms folded across his chest, the perpetual grin etched across his helmet.

_Poster Boys._

Most Spartans Claire had seen were awe inspiring. Not this one, not this Spartan in his black armor and his hideous grin. Claire wasn't inspired.

She was afraid.

But at the same time, she found herself feeling something else, something far different.

She was interested.


	3. Chapter 2: Exposition to Complication

Chapter 2: Exposition to Complication

**[04 April 2548]**

**[UNSC Firebase "Bravo Nest", Metropolis city, UNSC colony Agricola]**

**[2030 Hours]**

Claire's head was spinning. How much time had gone by since Captain Ross had informed them they were stranded and Covenant were invading? Her ears still ringing with gunfire, she sat down and leaned against the bases wall, closing her eyes.

**About eight point five hours earlier…**

After delivering his inspiring and bloodthirsty speech, Ross had convened with the Spartan Petty Officer to discuss an immediate plan of action, leaving the ODST's to mill about and keep watch for Covenant. What they did mostly, though, was talk.

Atwood thumped himself to the ground and sighed. "Ah, all due respect to the good Captain, but speeches be damned. We're fucked, no ifs, ands, or buts about it."

Beside him, Schaefer ripped off his helmet and lit a cigarette. "Yeah, well, what else is new? I say, let the aliens come. They can kiss my big German ass."

Katy lit a cigarette too, a bad sign. She only smoked to calm her nerves and clear her mind- and it took a lot to jangle her nerves. "I don't know, I think it depends on how they decide to attack. If it was an up-and-up glassing, we wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell. But if they're deploying ground parties, that means they're looking for something. Might give us an advantage if we play our cards right."

"Yeah, they're looking for something alright," Atwood said, pointing a finger towards the Spartan. Even against Ross and Keller, who were pretty tall in their own right, he looked enormous. "They're looking for Mister Smiley over there. He said it himself that he had been hunting that Elite for a while. Chances are that the Covies probably put a price on his head too."

"The Covenant have probably put a price on every Spartan's head, Atwood." Katy retorted.

Schaefer threw down his cigarette and joined the argument. "Yeah, but they probably put special hits out on Spartans just on general principle. This guy is ONI; who knows how many ops he's run against the Covenant? You saw all those Grunts and Elites in the square. Who knows how many teams like that are out hunting this guy? We might all get our asses spammed just because this guy happened to be on the same planet as us."

Claire said nothing. She ripped into an energy bar as her teammates argued and sat on a bench, chewing thoughtfully. She allowed her eyes roam back over to the Spartan, talking quietly with Captain Ross. She studied his black armor, devoid of any insignias or identification, and the way he held himself, relaxed but wary.

Well, if it was true that the Covenant had a mad-on for this particular super soldier, then it might explain why instead of glassing the city they were invading it. And if they were searching for this Spartan, then that might play into the ODSTs advantage too. Just like the Captain said, "the entire Covenant will aim for him."

"What do you think, Sarge?" Katy had glanced towards her.

"Huh?"

"Yoo-hoo, Agricola to Sergeant Avalos? You all there?"

Claire swallowed the last of the energy bar. "I'm sorry, what was the question?"

"I said, do you think we're more screwed without the Spartan, or with the Spartan? Cause right now the votes kind of tied."

Claire stared, then shrugged. "I don't know yet. I think it more depends on what kind of person this Spartan is."

"You mean, like what kind of sick psychopath would paint a smile on his helmet?" Schaefer drew an imaginary smile across his own visor.

"Or, like what kind of suicidal maniac would paint his visor yellow so that it's practically screaming 'Sniper Bait'?" Atwood pantomimed a gun firing in the Spartans direction.

"Yeah, something like that."

But truth be told, Claire wasn't just thinking about the Spartans armor. She was also thinking about how the Spartan's eyes had looked behind his visor, how he had reacted at the sight of his own mauled, dead troops. How he had held the Elite, almost…_comforted_, it, before he had stabbed it through the heart. Claire thought about all of that, and while a small voice whispered "_Poster Boy"_, her mind screamed

_Cold Blooded Killer_

Katy seemed to share her thoughts. "I don't think he's suicidal, or crazy."

"Then what do you think he is?"

"A killer. A bloody effective killer."

Atwood and Schaefer nodded, muttering agreements. Claire shrugged.

Katy continued. "Shame too. He had pretty eyes from what I saw."

Claire burst out laughing and Atwood snorted. Schaefer shook his head in disgust.

"What?"

Claire grinned. "You unapologetic slut! The man went fifteen rounds with an Elite and all you can think about are his pretty eyes?"

Katy grinned back, shoved her in the shoulder. "As if you weren't thinking the same thing."

"You're completely wrong."

"Oh, am I?" Katy's grin grew wider. "I saw you and him lock eyes. You couldn't _stop_ staring."

"If you saw the grin on his face, you'd stare too." Claire shoved back.

"Kind of like right now?" Atwood had snapped to attention. Claire and Katy whirled around.

Spartan-009 stood at Captain Ross's left. Ross favored the two soldiers with a raised eyebrow. "Having fun, you two?"

"Excuse us sir." Claire detached herself from Katy and both snapped to attention.

"You're excused." Captain Ross sighed. "Alright people, this is the way it looks. We're stuck here."

"Brilliant observation." Katy muttered.

Schaefer raised his hand. "Excuse me Captain, but doesn't Spartan-009 have a ship? I mean, his team had to have gotten here somehow?"

The super soldier shook his head, but his AI Celsius spoke for him. "009 and his team were dropped off two days ago by the UNSC _Black Flight_, a stealth cruiser. They were deployed under orders to scour the planet and eliminate the target, only after which could we contact the ship and request extraction. Not a particularly sound plan, but then again, I'm not operating on a particularly sound platform, am I?"

"Says you." The Spartan muttered.

"Exactly." Ross looked miffed at being interrupted. "So, if the Covenant are landing ground troops, then they're probably going to deploy recon teams into the city to take quick control. Our priorities now are to meet those recon teams, and get these wounded back to the firebase for treatment."

"I've has contacted the firebase and they're sending out a Warthog convoy to pick us up. What we need to do in the meantime is secure the perimeter and hold our positions until reinforcements arrive."

Katy spoke up. "So basically Captain, we're supposed to sit on our asses until help arrives?"

Claire giggled, and she noticed the Spartan stood suspiciously still, as if he were suppressing shudders of laughter inside his shell.

Captain Ross said calmly, "Private Rawlings, I appreciate the constructive criticism, but interrupt me one more time and you'll be cleaning toilets with your tongue for the rest of your military career."

That sobered everybody up. The Captain talked big but he was also a man of his word.

"Chief?" Ross motioned to the Chief. "If you will?"

Celsius addressed the ODST's. "The Captain wasn't insinuating that we sit around and twiddle our thumbs. Covenant will be crawling all over this area in a few minutes. We need to move the wounded to cover, set up ambush points."

The Spartan held up a small alien looking communications box. "This is a Covenant transponder. I found it one of these dead Elites. Covenant forces are probably homing in on this already."

That completely silenced the ODSTs. Ross took the opportunity to step back into the limelight. "What 009 and the AI are saying is that we can use this square as a kill zone. Let the Covenant move in, then cut them down when they are distracted. That way, we clear out any hostiles before extraction gets here."

Captain Ross glanced towards the super soldier. "Thank you, Sergeant, 009, Celsius." He began issuing rapid fire orders. "My squad, on me. We'll handle the wounded, get them into relative safety, and keep any eye on them. Sergeant Avalos!"

"Sir!" Avalos straightened up.

"Your squad's the ambush team."

_Oh brother_, thought Claire. Outwardly she said, "Understood, sir."

"Excellent. You're under the Spartan-009's command now. Guard his back."

Claire stiffened. "Yes sir."

"You have your assignments. Questions?" Nobody spoke. "Go!"

Ross and his squad began assembling collapsible stretchers to transport the wounded. Claire irritably slapped on her helmet and motioned for her squad to surround the Spartan. The Petty Officer glanced up and nodded.

Claire heaved an inward sigh "What are your orders, _Chief_?"

The Spartan turned towards Atwood. "Corporal Atwood?"

"Sir!"

"Did I get the name right? Atwood?"

"Uh…yes sir."

"Good. Set up on that grassy knoll, over there. The brush should provide enough cover." The Spartan pointed.

Atwood nodded. "Yes sir. But…am I the second gunman?"

The question didn't seem to register. "Excuse me?"

"Never mind, sir." Atwood grabbed his Sniper Rifle and double timed it over to his post.

"Alright, Battle Rifles set up staggered line behind those planters. Hide yourselves well. Assault weapons, take position under that overhang. Need any ammo or supplies, now's the time."

Claire raised his hand. "Excuse me, Petty, but where will you be in all of this?"

To everyone's surprise, the Spartan un holstered his Battle Rifle and tossed it to the ground. "Hiding in plain sight." He sat down and checked his position, as if ensuring it was secure enough.

Rawlings broke in. "Wait, Petty, are you saying that you're going to be lying on the ground like a dead fish when the Covenant show up?"

"Yeah."

"You're nuts!" Claire blurted.

The Spartan shrugged. "The Covenant'll spot me and take a closer look. They'll be so preoccupied that they won't know what hits them when you open fire."

"And what happens if we miss?" Atwood retorted.

"I have absolute faith in you."

"But seriously, what happens if we miss?"

Celsius chimed in. "Yeah, David, what happens if they miss?"

Spartan-009 glanced up, shrugged again. "Then it was nice to meet you." He waved them on. "You have your assignments. Get to cover and wait for my signal." With that he laid himself down amidst the blood pools and stiffening corpses, spread eagled, and relaxed.

All that was left was the waiting game.

Within three minutes the square was clear of all living things. Captain Ross and his squad had disappeared into a building, Claire's squad was spread out and hiding and the Petty Officer was laying down, to all appearances dead.

There was nothing more deadly than a silent, deserted square. Not even birds were squawking in the distance. Claire shifted and checked the charging bolt on her rifle. Schaefer tapped his foot against the ground. Katy alternated polarizing and de-polarizing her visor. Finally she opened the public comm. channel. "Hey, Sarge?"

"Yeah?"

"You scared?"

"Not yet."

"Great."

"Um-hm."

Ross snapped from his position. "Hey, quiet you two!"

The silence invaded again, deeper and more piercing than before. Claire hesitated, then, taking a chance, opened a private comm. channel, asking hesitantly, "Chief?"

The Spartan's voice answered. He sounded tired. "What is it, Sergeant?"

Claire leaned back against the pillar she was hiding behind. "This is probably a stupid question, but, are you scared?"

009 smacked his lips. "Yep."

Claire started. "C'mon, you're kidding?"

"Nope." He responded dryly.

The ODST smiled in spite of herself. "I thought you Spartans were never afraid."

"Nah, we're usually scared shitless. That's why we always wear our helmets."

Claire closed her eyes. She liked the sound of the 009's voice, so calm, so smooth. "You always scared?"

"Sometimes, like when I'm putting myself out there, alone, vulnerable. Kind of like right now."

"So, were you scared when you were fighting that Elite?"

The Spartan didn't respond. Claire opened her eyes. "I'm not trying to pry. If that's too personal…"

"It's not personal. And I wasn't scared. I was..." Claire heard a sigh. "Damn, it's complicated."

"I'm willing to listen."

"I know." He said gently. Claire's face warmed slightly. "If we ever have time, I'll try to explain it. But not now. Not yet."

"Okay." Claire settled back. "Hey-"

At that moment, the air filled with an electric hum that grew steadily louder. An enormous shadow darkened the square. Atwood, safe in his sniper post, whispered, "Contact, straight above! One Bandit gunship, two Banshees on the flanks."

Ross's voice crackled over the comm. "Alright, everyone, stop your grinnin' and drop your linen. Wait for the Chief's orders."

The Bandit hovered low to the ground, and several figures jumped out of the dual cargo holds. Claire could make out the lean figures of several Jackals, the dumpy bodies of nearly a dozen Grunts, and a few tall, crimson armored Elites.

Atwood reported rapidly. "Big squad, at least twelve plus foot mobiles. Twelve Grunts, four Jackals, two Elites, those tall bastards in the red suits. Oh shit!"

The squad tensed as they heard a steady electric purr. That could only mean-

"Ghost recon vehicles, two of 'em. White armored Grunts behind the wheels. 009, you better be damn sure about this."

"Stay patient." The Spartan murmured. "Assault weapons concentrate on the Ghosts. Battle Rifles target Elites and Grunts. Atwood, you're my cover. Watch my back when the shooting starts."

"Aye Aye, swabbie."

Celsius spoke up. "David, we are one mobile warfare platform against one Covenant infantry formation and two light vehicles. The odds of us surviving this little ambush, in one piece, are twenty point five to two hundred- and that's rounding _up_."

"Yeah, well, since when have I ever cared about your odds?"

"You're right David. I'll shut up now and die quietly."

The Bandit gunship remained over the scene. Elites were examining their fallen brothers, growling and occasionally roaring, even shaking their fists at the sky. Grunts keened low pitched squeaks at sight of their own fallen comrades. Jackals, their shields activated and glowing, sniffed the air. Suddenly one stiffened and pointed towards the center of the carnage.

"Shit, Chief, they've spotted you."

"Yep, wait for my go." The Spartan said nonchalantly. _Scared, my ass,_ Claire thought.

The Elites loped over to the spot, and Grunts surrounded them, chattering excitedly. One of the Elites knelt down for a closer look. All of the Covenant were utterly absorbed.

009's voice echoed across the comm. channel.

"Now."

Suddenly the Covenant leapt back in shock. The lead Elite stumbled away, clawing at his armor where a lit plasma grenade stuck to his chest guard. He disappeared in a bright flash, taking two Grunts with him.

The peace was shattered as gunfire erupted on all sides. Staccato Battle Rifle fire mixed with the steady chatter of Assault Rifles. Baritone booms of Shotguns formed a pulse by which the steady hiss of plasma weapons followed winding and weaving through the square. The crescendo came in the form of the blasts of Atwood's sniper rifle, creating a vicious symphony that raped the air and burned the ears.

Claire noticed none of it. Tunnel vision, common virus to all soldiers, had taken over her sight, and all she could see was the barrel of her rifle pointing straight towards the nearest Ghost. The firepower of three Assault Rifles tore the vehicles engine, and a single grenade from Schaefer's launcher destroyed the chassis, sending the little silver Grunt flying away with pin wheeling arms.

"Fucking-A!" Schaefer roared.

Claire blinked, and the battle came back into sharp focus. That's when she saw him.

009 had somehow emerged unscathed from the crush of Covenant troops. He was moving like water, ducking and rolling through gunfire. Then all of a sudden he had his back to a pillar, dual SMG's blazing in his fists as he cut a swath through lines of Grunts.

The single remaining Elite was directing his Jackals to flank him, but the super soldier darted forward and ran towards the fountain, concentrating his fire on the red armored figure. This forced the Jackals to shift their shields, giving the Battle Rifle team a clear shot. The avian looking aliens screeched as the large caliber rounds tore holes through them and crumpled like cardboard. The Elite, alone now, scrambled towards cover, but got caught in the SMG's fire and was nearly cut in half by the bullets.

009 was racing now, charging the remaining Ghost head on.

"He's crazy!" Atwood yelled over the channel.

"No he's not!" Rawlings yelled back.

At the last second, the super soldier leapt into the air and landed squarely on the Ghosts hood. He swung his body over, knocking the Grunt out of the pilots' seat and onto the ground. Atwood took the opportunity to blow the little bastards head off as the Spartan gunned the vehicles plasma turrets, firing at the hovering gunship above him. The gunship returned the sentiment, and brightly lit plasma cut through the cold air.

Claire slapped Schaefer on the shoulder. "Shift fire up!"

"There's no way we can take that thing down!"

Atwood yelled over the comm., "I got it!" He fired four shots, pinging off the hull of the gunship. The last one hit something vital, because there was a bright blue flash, and the ship careened drunkenly before crashing into the ground, exactly where the Spartan was weaving in his borrowed Ghost.

"Son of a bitch!" Claire, Katy, Schaefer, Atwood, and Ross yelled simultaneously.

A storm cloud of blood, dirt, shrapnel, and concrete rained down. The ODSTs ducked for cover. Claire felt a stab of pain as a burning piece of metal sliced her shoulder. The roaring filled her ears, deafening her. Then all was silent.

Static brayed on the comm. channel, then Ross coughed. "Sound off! Avalos, you there?"

Claire sat up. She felt dizzy and nauseated. Warm blood was flowing down her sleeve, but she didn't feel any pain. Strange.

"Sergeant Avalos!"

"I'm here! I'm alright." Claire wiped a layer of dust off her visor.

"Private Rawlings?"

"Ughhhh…think I got concrete up my ass." Rawlings groaned

"Schaefer?"

"Fifty percent here, Captain."

"Great."

Claire stood up, shaking. The square was gone; in its place, a crater almost completely enveloped the smoking wreckage of the gunship. A dust cloud was slowly settling. Claire put a hand to her ear. "Chief? 009? Do you copy?"

From across the square, Ross, his black ODST armor gray with dust, emerged from the side. "Atwood, you got eyes on the Spartan?"

"Yeah, I'm fine too here Captain, thanks for asking." Atwood paused. "Ho-lee shit. You gotta check this out."

There was movement in the crater. Suddenly, a hunk of purple metal that looked suspiciously like a broken Ghost shot out and landed on the ground. A tall, dusty figure scrambled out after it.

Schaefer whistled under his breath.

Spartan-009 emerged from the smoke and flames, filthy, covered in dirt and oil and blood, limping, but very much alive.

Claire sensed someone move to her side. Katy's helmet had been knocked off and her hair was in disarray, but she looked no worse for wear. She pointed towards the incoming Spartan, eyes wide. "Now that's hot."

Claire couldn't help herself; she nodded in agreement.

009 didn't stop until he had reached the ruined overhang. He glanced from Claire to Katy. Then he leaned against a pillar, slid to the ground, and knocked his head against said pillar. He spoke, his voice hoarse. "Everyone okay?"

Blood had dried on his shoulder wound, leaving a dark stain. He looked like hell all over. Claire marveled that he was actually asking them if they were okay. "Uh…yeah."

"Good." The Spartan rummaged around his utility belt, extracted a med-kit, and began applying bio-foam to his shoulder wound. He glanced up at Claire. "You're bleeding, Sergeant."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Claire suddenly remembered, and took a good look at the gash on her arm. The wound looked ragged and was bleeding freely.

The Spartan tossed her a liquid bandage tube. She fumbled for it. "Thanks." She muttered. He grunted in reply. Inside his helmet, Celsius sighed. "All the social graces of a mountain snake. Honestly David, what am I going to do with you?"

"Oh, so now you're talking to me again?"

"I'm just passing the time until you throw our mutual ass into another fire."

Katy looked around. "Well, may I be the first to say that what you did back there was completely badass?"

The Spartan's hand slipped with the bio-foam canister. "Badass?"

"Yeah, totally. I mean, we thought you were one hundred percent screwed when that Bandit landed on you, but the whole time you were hiding under that Ghost, and then you toss the damn thing onto the pavement and strut out of the hole all nonchalantly…" Katy trailed off with a happy sigh. "Seriously hardcore."

The Spartan nodded slowly, then turned towards Claire, jerking a thumb in Katy's direction. "She always this hyper?"

Katy grinned, turning red. Claire depolarized her visor and smiled. "Only after a firefight."

Vinson rushed towards Claire. "Sarge, you alright?"

"She's fine, Corporal." 009 grunted. He was examining his wound, unconcerned with the scene above him.

Claire wheeled around. Now that she was standing, her head felt clearer, and she suddenly wanted to say something. "Excuse me Chief, but what the hell was that?"

009 looked up. "Excuse me?"

"What the flying fuck were you thinking? Who do you think you are, motherfucking John McClane?"

"I think she's implying that your methods out there are cowboy and suicidal at best." Celsius mused. "I can't help but agree with her."

"Mmm-hmmm."

Claire shook her head in disgust. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? You die, and the Covenant will blow us away like a pile of leaves. You are an _asshole_."

009 stood up slowly and cocked his head at the Sergeant. "So, you're just figuring this out?"

Katy giggled. Claire felt her face turn red.

The Spartan took no notice as he shoved past the embarrassed Sergeant and into the now hazy sunshine, rolling his shoulder. He looked around at the destruction that he had helped cause. From his posture, one could almost say he looked pleased.

"You know, I feel like I'm missing something here." 009 said aloud. "I feel like there's something I'm forgetting…" he trailed off and looked to the sky. "Oh, yeah."

A buzzing wail filled everyone's ears. Schaefer cursed.

Celsius yelled, "Banshees are back!"

"Everyone down!" A black blur engulfed Claire and hurled her to the ground just as a massive green plasma pulse exploded above them. Concrete rained down

Claire couldn't see beyond the blackness. A heavy weight was bearing down on her, not crushing her but saving her from the worst of the explosion. Then it was over, and a pair of concerned brown eyes peered down at her. "You okay?"

She nodded weakly. "Yeah," she gasped

"Good." Then she was dragged upright, hand almost crushed in a vice like grip. It took her a moment to realize what had happened- the Spartan had tackled her and covered her with his own body, protecting her from the rain of debris that came from the Banshee's plasma mortar. "Thank you-"

But 009 had already moved away from her, out into the open. He picked up an Assault Rifle and fired madly at the offending Banshee as it passed for a second volley. A line of plasma bolts scorched the ground around him.

Claire felt an insane laugh rise in her throat. "I tell him not to get killed, and what does he do? Goes outside and plays chicken with a Banshee! Un-fucking-believable…"

"Avalos!" Captain Ross roared over the comm.

The laugh disappeared. "Yes sir?"

"Our rides here, you damn fool. Shoot and scoot!"

"Banshee's are pinning us down, Captain. We'll never make it."

"Kiss a fat mans butt! Alright, hang on, we're coming to you."

There was a roar as five Warthogs burst through the smoke, two standard LRV's, two troop carrier models, and one featuring a triple barreled HE launcher. Captain Ross motioned to the squad. "Let's go, while we're still breathing!"

"Right!" Claire turned and whistled. "009! Get your ass over here now! We gotta go!"

009 dropped the smoking Assault Rifle, stooped to pick up a fallen Battle Rifle, and double timed it over to the first LRV. He shoved aside Vinson, who shoved aside the original driver towards the gunner seat.

The Banshee swooped back, firing. In the gunner's seat, and the ODST fell back, dead. Vinson yelled, "Jansen's down!"

The Spartan slapped the wheel in anger, and then motioned towards Avalos. "Sergeant! I need a gunner!"

Claire hesitated, then broke away from Katy. He turned around, shocked. "Sarge, what the hell?"

"Don't worry Katy, I'll see you back at base!" She jumped in behind the 12.7mm turret, adjusted the angle, and sent a steady stream of armor piercing rounds towards the Banshee as it made lazy figure eights in the sky. Instantly the aircraft went evasive. "Play times over, you bastard." She muttered.

Captain Ross did a quick check. "Okay, wounded and recon teams are all aboard. Burn rubber!"

With that, the small convoy gunned their engines, bypassed the smoking crater, and headed west out of the square.

Hell trailed after them.

**[04 April 2548]**

**[Metropolis city, UNSC colony Agricola]**

**[1230 Hours]**

David laid pressure on the throttle, coaxing every ounce of speed he could out of the Hog. He spun the wheel as the convoy made a hard right, feeling a twinge in his shoulder. The bio-foam had helped ease the pain some, but it still hurt.

Behind him, Sergeant Avalos was gunning away steadily at the turret, calling, "We've got more coming! Two more banshee's at six o'clock!"

"Pick your shots," David called behind him. He got on the public comm. channel. "All Hogs spread out. Five LRV's are a juicy target for Banshee mortars."

"Acknowledged." Came the response.

There was a burst of dirt as a plasma mortar went off right next to David's LRV. He grit his teeth as the wash-off burned his shields and blinded him. He made a hard left, weaved through a series of pillars under an overhang, and emerged on the other side. "Sergeant, it's getting hot in here!"

"So what do you want me to do, take off all my clothes?" She yelled back in frustration.

David couldn't believe his ears. "What?"

Inside his head, Celsius giggled. "I find cross references that connect the Privates statement to lyrics from a 20th century hip-hop song."

"Terrific. We're dodging plasma and she's quoting songs." He turned his attention back to Claire. "Just take down those Banshees, quickly!"

"Then give me a shot!"

David slammed on the brakes and hit the e-brake, violently swinging the hog one eighty degrees. Claire practically went flying. "Now what are you doing?"

"Giving you a shot." David gunned the engine but held the brakes, eyes searching the sky for a target. _Ah, there you are_.

Two Banshees's peeled off and began a dive straight for them, five hundred meters and counting.

"David?" Celsius queried.

"Hang on." David released the brakes and jettisoned forward, straight into the Banshee's firing path. Avalos, with two targets in her sights, let the 12.7mm roar.

The first Banshee took hits on its chassis, exploded into flame, and dropped from the sky. The second's propulsion pod failed. Wobbling, it tried to veer off too late, and burst into a ball of fire on the side of a building.

"Yeah!"

"Flawless cowboy." Celsius muttered.

David grinned in his helmet. "Nothing but." Turning, he accelerated and quickly caught up with the rest of the convoy.

There was a brief respite as the remaining Banshee's peeled off, then suddenly the sky ahead of the convoy darkened. An ODST yelled over the comm. "Bandits on our twelve! Break off! Break off!"

David slammed on the brakes. The Hog ahead of him wasn't so lucky and crashed into a pillar, crumpling the front end. Captain Ross cursed over the comm.

The gunship was blocking their way into a freeway tunnel. Worse, it had deposited two Ghosts, which were moving rapidly to engage the convoy. David's radar blipped as a second gunship came in behind them, Ghosts quivering under her hull. Behind him, Avalos moaned, "They've got us pinned."

David's hands tightened on the wheel. "So are you giving up?"

Avalos hesitated, then racked the firing bolt of the 12.7mm, chambering a fresh round. "Not yet."

David nodded in approval. "Then hang on." He gunned the engine, sped to the head of the convoy, and charged the lead Ghost. The cobalt Elite in the driver's seat fired a steady stream of plasma, burning the Hog's hood and shattering the windshield. David held steady as Avalos returned the gunfire, and the Ghost went flying to the side as the larger vehicle rammed straight through it.

Taking on his cue, the rest of the convoy followed. The Rocket Hog fired a full magazine into the lead gunship, destroying its engine and causing it to crash, cutting off pursuing Ghosts. The Banshee's squeezed through, though, and followed the convoy.

Captain Ross radioed in. "Good job people. Hog One and Two, those Banshee's are all yours."

"On 'em." David shuddered as Avalos and the gunner of the second Hog targeted one Banshee apiece. In the cramped confines of the tunnel, the Banshee's never had a chance; their burning wreckage lit up the dark interior.

David eased his foot off the gas, pressing a hand to his comm. headset. "What's the word, Celsius?"

"That gunship will be there to greet you on the other end of the tunnel. You'd better be ready."

"Yep." He switched the comm. channel. "You okay, Sergeant?"

"A-OK, 009. What about you?"

"Cool as a cucumber. Be ready. The Covenant doesn't give up that easily."

"Yeah, true that. And, 009?"

"Yes?"

"The name's Avalos."

"Okay…Avalos." David settled back into his seat, sweeping the remains of the windshield off the dash. Beside him, Vinson in the passenger seat turned towards him. "I'm okay too, Spartan. Not that anybody cares."

David shrugged. "I thought you were dead, Corporal. My apologies."

The ODST growled, then turned his attention back to the tunnel.

Inside his helmet, David heard Celsius sigh. "'Avalos', is it? You're getting really informal with her, David. To think, on last name basis now!"

"I know. It's so unlike me. Next I'll be buying you Christmas cards and sitting with Marines at chow time."

"Don't get any funny ideas, although I wouldn't mind the Christmas cards. You know, so long as their virtual, and aren't those silly ones that sing horribly as soon as you open them."

"Those are exactly the ones."

"You evil bastard."

David grinned, but it died on his lips as they emerged from the tunnel into the sunshine. Eclipsing the light was the Bandit, back to bite them in the head.

Avalos swore. "You again!"

"Persistent piece of shit," Captain Ross remarked. "Rocket hog, that Bandit's all yours. Sic him."

"Sir, we're down to three rockets. We don't have a clear shot of that thing."

"You damn imbeciles! Shoot him now!"

The gunship took evasive maneuvers and began firing its plasma cannon, forcing the Hogs apart. David swerved, then tapped the Hog's passenger. "Hey?"

"Yeah?"

"Take over." With that David climbed out of the driver's seat and onto the gunner's platform.

"Son of a- !" The ODST scrambled for the wheel. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Get me to the Rocket Hog." David hung onto the smoking barrels of the 12.7mm, right next to Sergeant Avalos. The Hog hit a bump, and David grabbed her arm for balance. "Excuse me, Avalos."

"Yes sir." Her voice sounded faint. David glanced back and shook his head.

The LRV quickly fell in beside the Rocket Hog, then stabilized. David moved to the side of the Hog, holding on for dear life, then tensed, and leapt over, landing next to the Rocket Hog's gunner. The ODST swore. "What the fuck?"

"Move over." David shoved the man into the passengers seat, took the launchers control suit, and aimed through the computer sight. Far above him, the gunship swerved, spouting plasma that scorched the ground and burned the air.

In a Troop Transport Hog, an ODST screamed as a stray bolt pierced him through the chest. His corpse fell loose and was trampled beneath the thundering wheels.

David breathed slowly through his mouth, angling the barrel of the launcher to compensate for distance. _Three shots…_, he thought.

The gunship fired again, deliberately aiming for the Troop Transport carriers. The driver of the second one was killed, and the vehicle swerved crazily as the ODSTs fought for control. That was the same Hog the wounded were on.

David mashed down on the firing studs. The volley of rockets flew upwards, striking their target. The first destroyed the gun, the second hit the underside of the troop carriage, and the third destroyed the pilots cockpit. The ship veered off and disappeared. An explosion racked the ground as it crashed.

David sighed and relinquished control of the gun, jumping down into the passenger seat. He keyed his headset. "Troop Carrier 2, do you copy?"

The voice that answered was strained. "Yeah, we copy. Our driver's KIA but we're still moving. Wounded are intact."

He breathed. They were alright. Three ODSTs were dead, but that's okay. Everyone else had survived.

Everybody was quiet as the convoy pulled into the circle where the base was. At the far end was "Bravo's Nest", an enormous multi story complex at the end of a cul-de-sac, with a clear view of the surroundings. David could make out three carefully hidden Pelican gunships; a Heavy Machine Gun turret and three M247 light machine guns were on the balcony of the complex. From the top, a small black dot popped up, followed by a long Sniper Rifle barrel. A rigid voice sounded over the comm. "Halt! Identify yourselves!

"This is Captain Ross and company, Sergeant Ritchie. I don't think Covenant use Warthogs, now do they?"

"No, no sir. Hang on, we're opening garage doors now."

"Where's Anton?"

"Lieutenant Girard is on his way now. He'll meet you on the ground floor."

The convoy pulled into the spacious garage area. David jumped off the Rocket Hog, giving its gun a meditative pat and nodding to the driver. He walked over to the LRV, noticing that Sergeant Avalos was in the driver's seat. "Sergeant, what-?"

But he didn't need to finish. Slumped in the passengers seat was the nameless ODST David had left to drive when he transferred to the Rocket Hog. His visor was depolarized; his eyes were glazed over and dead. A burnt, gaping hole took up most of his chest.

_Four. Not three dead, but four._

David gently took off the dead man's helmet, took a moment to examine his face. Then he closed the staring eyes and patted the man's shoulder. He turned to Sergeant Avalos. "I'm sorry." He said dispassionately.

"It's your fault." She muttered.

That stopped David in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

"I said it's your fault." The Private jumped out of her seat and tore off her helmet. Her eyes, a beautiful shade of green, were red rimmed and livid. "The second you jumped out of the Hog you made us a target. Then you took so goddamn long to fire-"

"If I had fired any earlier I would have missed, and that gunship might have taken out the entire convoy instead of just two marines." David responded levelly.

"Bullshit! You went off to play hero and got him killed." She waved over to the dead ODST, eyes watering.

"It's not my fault." David moved to step past her, but she angrily put out a hand to stop him. Quick as lightning, he had wrapped her hand in his armored gauntlet and jerked her closer to face him. She peered up at him, fear in her eyes but defiant.

He spoke quietly, without emotion. "If you want to be pissed at me for doing my job correctly, go ahead. But don't toy with me." He let go of her hand and pushed passed her.

Captain Ross marched forward, followed by Lieutenant Anton "Pretty Boy" Girard, a lean, handsome ODST hailing from France back on Earth. The Lieutenant was tugging at his wispy goatee, clearly worried.

Ross wiped the sweat off his brow and grinned horribly. "Get the wounded off the Hog's and to the infirmary!" he roared. "Clear out the dead and cover them. All able bodied Helljumper's arm yourselves! Man the watchtowers! Steel yourselves! The Covenant are upon us!"

David glanced back towards Sergeant Avalos and unlimbered his Battle Rifle. "C'mon. We can finish this later."

The two soldiers raced alongside their comrades up the stairs and onto the several balconies overlooking the cul-de-sac. Bandit gunships were depositing dozens of Covenant troops onto the ground. David aimed down the Battle Rifle's scope, targeted the nearest Elite, and fired away. Beside him Sergeant Avalos loaded a fresh clip into her MA5B and unleashed a torrent of lead into the crowd of Covenant below.

Katy arrived on the scene with Rawlings and Schaefer, adding to the gunfire. Katy tapped Avalos on her shoulder. "You okay?"

"I'm fine!" She yelled back.

It was far from a one sided battle; the dozens of Covenant returned fire with a vengeance, lighting up the air with green, blue and purple plasma. Cries echoed on both sides as wounded and dead fell. The smell of burning lead and flesh engulfed the soldiers.

Claire didn't feel the sting as a stray plasma bolt stung her arm. She was enraged- at the Covenant below, at the Spartan beside her, at life in general. She slapped a fresh clip in, fired until that was empty, then drew her M6C Magnum and fired crazily. She screamed in rage, immersing herself in the hate and the madness.

**[04 April 2548]**

**[UNSC Firebase "Bravo's Nest", Metropolis City, UNSC colony Agricola]**

**[2035 Hours]**

Claire shook herself out of her reverie and looked around. The Covenant had hit them on and off with everything from infantry to heavy artillery and air attacks until about 1900 hours. Then, with night falling and the temperature dropping, both sides had retired to lick their wounds, maybe start up again tomorrow morning.

Seven ODSTs had been killed in the attacks, another twenty wounded. That was out of an undersized one hundred twenty man infantry company. With no help on the horizon, that wasn't giving anybody any hope.

Claire's eyes wandered over to the black armored figure slumped under a stairwell. Although his face was hidden in the shadows, gentle snores issued every now and then.

Fifty-seven Covenant had been killed, three destroyed Ghosts, and one Wraith artillery tank had been destroyed in the attack. At least two dozen of those Covenant were dead thanks to Spartan-009. He had fought alongside the ODSTs with a cold ferocity, silently dropping charging Covenant in their tracks and fighting with Battle Rifle, Assault Rifle, Submachine Gun and even Magnum, mercilessly capping Grunts in the head. When the Covenant broke through in the garage, he had led the counter attack using a "borrowed" Heavy Machine Gun turret that he had ripped from its tripod like a toy. As soon as the last Covenant had retreated into the darkness, he had helped get wounded to the infirmary, then attended to his own wounds, scarfed down two Meals Ready to Eat, and finally situated himself under the stairs. He had been asleep for over an hour.

Schaefer, a cigarette dangling from his lip, waved over to the Spartan. "Would you look at that? Man blew up half the Covenant army then sleeps like a baby. Unbelievable."

Katy dragged her attention from the MRE she was working on. "Hey, you'd be tired too."

Atwood shrugged, drinking from his canteen. "What was unbelievable was the way he ate those MRE's. One minute, it was there, then the next, poof! Gone!" He shook his head.

Claire hadn't eaten any chow herself. She was still jumpy; her hands still shook a bit. Her adrenaline rush hadn't quite worn off yet.

Schaefer noticed. He shook his finger reprovingly at her. "No sense in letting the war ruin your appetite, Sergeant."

"Whatever. I'm sorry, but I can't play cat-and-mouse with the Covenant all day, covered in blood and sweat, and then come back with a hearty appetite."

Atwood was examining his sniper scope. "Clearly, 009 doesn't share your reluctance."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"What amazes me," Katy piped up, swallowing an enormous mouthful of food, "was that he just dropped off to sleep like that. On and off, like a light bulb. Like there's nothing else in the world."

Claire glared at the stairs. "Clear conscience.". She spat. The squad glanced up at their Sergeant. Her eyes were read and bleary. "Going to sleep is a lot easier when you think you're completely blameless in this god awful shitty mess."

Claire was especially remembering the Spartans dispassionate, "_I'm sorry_", back in the garage. He didn't even care that the ODST next to him had died.

She took a long drag on her cigarette, not trusting herself to speak again. Atwood glanced at her. "Those thing's will kill you Sarge."

"What are you, my mother?"

Keller growled.

Claire continued. "Besides, I probably have a bigger chance of dying from third degree plasma burns than of lung cancer."

Katy glared at her. "Don't talk like that! Jesus, you act like Guy Smiley over there!" He jerked his thumb towards the sleeping Spartan.

Atwood cleaned his rifle barrel with a rag. "Hmm, everybody be friends."

"Let's just stop talking about it." Katy tossed aside her empty MRE and lit a cigarette.

Schaefer didn't stop staring at Claire. "You should really eat something, Sarge. You look like hell."

"I will."

"The sooner the better. You don't know when the Covenant will come back."

Rage bubbled up in Claire again. She tossed her cigarette. "Jeez, will you get off my back already! All of you, just get off my goddamned back!"

She stomped away and sat on the stairs, just above 009. She turned her head towards the wall, trying to ignore her friends staring after her. Eventually, she sighed, shook a fresh cigarette out of her pack, and lit up, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs.

"You know, those things will kill ya." A voice said quietly below her.

Claire glanced down, startled. Then she groaned softly. "Oh God, how long have you been awake?"

"Long enough." A pair of bright brown eyes, narrowed in a half glare, peered up at her. "You seem to be tense."

"Yeah, no shit. How long did it take you to figure that one out?" She snapped.

The brown eyes didn't blink. The voice whispered, slow and laconic. "Hmm, you're pissed. At me, at Keller. You're hurting all over and you can't focus on one thing to hate, so you're just venting in every direction."

Claire was now thoroughly pissed off. "So what else can you tell about me, you sick bastard?" She settled back, blowing smoke into the darkness below her. "It's not like you even care. You didn't even know the guy's name."

The eyes dropped, but didn't look away. After a while the Spartan began speaking. "I saw his ID tag. Corporal P. Vinson, blood type A positive. I'm sorry he's dead, I truly am. I know that doesn't change anything, but a lot of other soldiers would have died if I hadn't waited to fire."

He paused, as if expecting her to protest. When she remained silent he continued. "We can't save everybody, Private Avalos. We minimize the risks and maximize the odds, as my AI partner so aptly spouts them, but sometimes it boils down to sheer blind luck. A flip of a coin can change everything."

Claire had laid her head on her arm and listened quietly to the Spartans speech. His voice was quiet, resonant, and almost hypnotic. She looked down into the brown eyes. "You really believe that 'flip of a coin' stuff, don't you?"

The brown eyes crinkled. "How do you think I was chosen to be a Spartan? A flip of a coin."

Claire smiled. "So that's how you rationalize it all away? Luck, lose one to save many?"

"It's either that, or I go insane."

She nodded. "So what happens when that doesn't work?"

The brown eyes blinked. "Alright, that? _That _is too personal."

"Sorry." She quickly decided to change the subject. "I was wondering, what's the deal with your armor?"

"You mean what's the deal with the smile?"

"No, I mean yes, but no. It's just that your armor's different than other Spartans."

"It's a prototype. MJOLNIR Mark Six, with several custom parts from various private companies. The helmets a special "Recon" variant of the standard issue model…"

His voice described the armor slowly and patiently. The gruff but smooth tone slowly lulled Claire into a doze, that warm place between sleep and waking. It didn't matter what he was talking about, so long as he talked.

Claire began fantasizing about what the Spartan looked like. His voice didn't have any color of accent, but she imagined nonetheless that he was dark haired, with strong features. Combine that with those piercing eyes of his and he was probably

_-Hot-_

A handsome man. She could almost picture him in her head…

Seconds later, it seems, she was being shaken awake.

"Private?"

"Hmmm?"

"Avalos?"

"Yeah." She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and came face to face with the evil grin. She froze, looked away quickly.

009 depolarized his visor. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I was just…startled." She stretched, looking around. The crowded room was dark. Most of the ODSTs were spread out, asleep. "What time is it?"

"0130 hours." He handed her a helmet. "C'mon. We're going on patrol."

"Patrol for what?"

"It's been pretty quiet out there. The Captain wants to know what the Covenant are up to. Your squads with me."

"Kay." She stumbled up, grabbed her rifle, and followed the Spartan down to the garage, where the rest of the squad already sat, looking sleepy and annoyed.

Captain Ross stood next to the open barn doors, smoking a cigarette. He motioned to the team. "Let's go, Bravo 2-B."

Claire shook the clinging remnants of sleep from her head, and motioning to her squad, walked out into the darkness. The squad filed in behind her.

Ross grabbed the Spartan on his way out. "Don't die out there, big guy."

"I'll do my best not to sir."

"Hey, I'm serious here! We lose you, we lose morale. We lose morale, we lose the fight here. We lose the fight here, we lose our asses. And I do not want to lose my ass this day. Savvy, Spartan-009?"

"…Savvy, sir."

"Good. Now get out there."

**[05 April 2548]**

**[Metropolis city, UNSC colony Agricola]**

**[0149 hours]**

After nearly seven hours of on and off bombardment, David had eaten and then slept hard for about four hours, curled under the stairwell. He had only paused once, to have a chat with Sergeant Avalos. That, in itself, was unusual. David was not the type to make small talk with marines, but then again, this wasn't exactly small talk.

He hadn't been lying to her; he was truly sorry, on a subconscious level that Corporal Vinson had been killed on his watch, but he also knew that it could have happened to anyone. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why some people couldn't accept the fact that they were living on borrowed time once they stepped foot into a warzone. Maybe it was his upbringing, maybe it was his dabbles in literature, but David had always had a "glass half full"  
view of life. That was just the way he was.

He had talked himself to sleep, describing something about his armor, and had taken Avalos with him. Finally, awakened by an internal clock that still ran on arbitrary four hour intervals, he had been ordered out on patrol, and requested that Avalos, and her squad, come to back him up. He told himself it was because he had experience with the squad, and he knew that they were competent.

_Yeah, sure, that's what it is_, a snide little voice whispered in the back of his head, but he ignored the teasing.

Almost twenty minutes later, they had reached the downtown district, full of incredibly tall buildings, and he had led the team into one such tower, to get a bird's eye view of the surrounding area. They had reached the roof with no trouble, where Atwood began examining the surrounding area using a high powered multi-spectrum monocular. David had retreated into a corner, and gazed down into the city below him.

"Breathtaking view, isn't it?" Celsius murmured.

"Yeah, breathtaking." Pale moonlight filtered through the tall buildings, bathing the ground in an unearthly bluish light. David looked about, and caught sight of Sergeant Avalos. She had taken off her helmet and was tying back her raven black hair in a ponytail. Her pale face was almost glowing in the starlight. David had never seen a person with a Spanish surname with so light a complexion.

"Admiring the view?" Celsius asked innocently.

"No." David casually turned back to looking at the city below him.

"David, don't try to fib me. I've known you for nearly six years now, and I know that look."

"You're inside my head, and you say you can see my expressions? Who's fibbing who?"

"Fine, how about this? I track your biorhythms twenty four-seven, and for the last couple of cycles, your pulse has spiked every time you glanced at Sergeant Avalos. The last time that's happened was when Bristow gave you that puppy on Christmas."

"You're saying I'm experience puppy love?" He whispered irritably.

"You're _attached _to her, in your own little way. Don't try to deny it."

"Alright, I'm attached to her. It doesn't matter. We're stuck between a rock and a hard place. Either we all die on this rock or we somehow hold out until reinforcements arrive, in which case I'll cadge a ride back to Reach and report in to Bristow. It's that simple."

"You know David, for such a level headed guy, you can be pretty naïve sometimes. It's _never_ that simple. I'm just saying."

"Good-bye, Celsius." David undid the hinges on his helmet and carefully removed it, opening his mouth to take in great lungful's of the April night air. The cold, clear breeze felt good on his head, cleared his mind.

Timid footsteps approached, and a voice at his back said, "Hey, 009."

David recognized the voice by now. "Sergeant Avalos."

The ODST moved to his side. David glanced down at her, just in time to catch her glancing at him. They both looked away quickly.

"You need something, Avalos?"

Claire sighed. This wasn't easy for her. "This afternoon, when the convoy got hit? I…I'm sorry I blew up in your face. It wasn't your fault. When Vinson got hit, the Hog swerved like crazy and I almost broke both my arms trying to steer."

David nodded, eyes glued to the sky. "You had a right to be angry. I shouldn't have jumped ship like that." He noticed out of the corner of his eye that she smiled at the little joke.

"Yeah, guess I should have expected it though. You Spartans are all head cases."

"Only during a firefight." He teased.

She laughed. He liked the sound of it.

They stood in companionable silence, listening to Schaefer discuss something with Atwood.

"Was there something else?"

"Yeah. Back there in the square, when you covered me during the Banshee attack? In all the commotion, I didn't get a chance to say…thanks."

David nodded. "It was no big deal."

Claire blew breath out of her mouth exasperatedly. "What is it with you strong, silent types and 'it's no big deal'."

"What?"

"You probably saved my life, or at least saved my ass from some pretty serious debris. When you save somebody's life, it's usually a pretty big deal. Saying that its not is not only cheapening the act of saving the person, it's also devaluing the life of the person you saved. Once you think about it, saying 'its no big deal' is actually insulting the person you saved."

David rolled his neck in its socket. "You've put a lot of thought into this."

"I had some thinking time, yeah."

David chose his words carefully. "We strong, silent types say 'its no big deal', because the act was ground into us as an instinct, a reflex. We say it's no big deal because we had to put so little thought into it. We react based on training, not consideration, with no thought for anything else. It's our gift," he concluded, "and our curse. Our fatal flaw."

"Your what?"

"If this was a novel, my reaction- my need to save somebody- could be seen as a fatal flaw, a characteristic of tragic heroes. This flaw would eventually lead to the hero's-my- downfall."

Claire was stunned by this statement. "What…where…?"

"I read a lot when I was younger." David said, almost shyly.

"Ahhhh…so if this was a novel, it would be a tragedy?"

"I don't know. I haven't read the end yet."

"Sarge! 009! Get over here!" Atwood sounded excited.

The two soldiers didn't bother to put on their helmets as they charged over to the corner where Atwood was pointing to the sky. "What is it?" Claire gasped.

"Look."

They followed the Corporal's gaze. High above them, in the blackness of the atmosphere, they could barely make out the Covenant assault group, hanging in low orbit. As they watched, a ball of fire erupted against the hull of a smaller cruiser, and it began to wobble in space.

A battle group of Human vessels had emerged from Slipspace ruptures to the right. Spearheading the assault was a familiar looking frigate.

"Is that…the _Wolfs Sun_?" Claire said in awe.

"You bet your ass, Sarge." Katy had depolarized her visor, eyes wild with glee.

"Well hello, Battle Group _Normandy_." Atwood gasped, squinting through the monocular.

For the next several minutes, the ODSTs stood on the roof in the cold night air, celebrating and cheering as the human assault group overran the much smaller Covenant group. Schaefer ripped off his helmet and jumped on the concrete railing, playing air guitar on his Shotgun. Atwood was busy laughing hysterically, flashing the finger every time a Covenant ship took a hit. Katy grabbed Claire in a bone crushing hug, tears running down her cheeks. Claire returned the hug, feeling tears gathering in her own eyes. All the fear, all the anger she had felt in the past twelve hours, it was all gone. They were saved.

The Covenant vessels, for once, were outnumbered. They began initiating Slipspace jumps. As far as David could tell, only one cruiser had gone down, but that was enough.

The alien ships disappeared. The human ships didn't bother to chase them

Claire let go of Katy and spotted David. The Spartan was staring at her, brown eyes calm and concerned. It was hard to see his expression in the dim light.

Without knowing why, but simply knowing that it felt right, Claire took three steps over and wrapped her arms around the Spartans waist. She felt him stiffen under her embrace. "Sergeant, what are you…?"

"This is called a hug, 009. Generally, people hug back."

Slowly, hesitantly, she felt his long, powerful arms gently wrap around her shoulders. She could feel the chill of his armor plates even through her own armor. "This feel's strange," she heard him say. She could feel the squad's eyes beginning to settle on them. None of it particularly mattered to her. All the tension, all the fear, all the hate that she had been carrying wasn't weighing her down right now. _We're safe we're safe. Everything's going to be alright. Everything's going to be alr-_

She suddenly realized that the Spartan had leaned down. She felt a light pressure on her forehead. And it suddenly occurred to her that he was kissing her. She froze, not sure what to do. He felt her tense up and suddenly he had pulled out of the hug- and the kiss he had laid upon her forehead.

The entire squad was staring at them. Katy's mouth had dropped open, Schaefer looked bemused, and Atwood's eyes bugged out of his skull. "Whoa, just whoa."

Claire opened her mouth to say something, but she caught sight of the Spartan. He had backed up quite a distance, and was in the process of putting his helmet on. He looked…almost, _embarrassed_.

The awkwardness was thankfully broken as Captain Ross's voice echoed over the comm. "Bravo 2-B, do you copy, over?"

Claire hurriedly slapped on her helmet. "Uh…yeah, Bravo 2-B is here, over!"

"Do doubt you saw the light show, boys and girls. I've been in contact with the _Wolfs Sun. _She's sending down Pelican's for extraction. Get your asses back to base and let's get the hell out of here."

"Understood, Captain. We're Oscar Mike." Claire turned back to the squad, looking sheepish. "Let's…uh, lets move out." Her voice sounded hoarse and faint.

The squad began filing down the stairwell to the ground floor. Claire paused, then walked over to 009, who hadn't moved. She checked his face. "Hey…did you hear? We're leaving."

"Yeah. Lucky us." His voice was expressionless. He looked up. "Think I can hitch a ride?"

Claire smiled at the joke, but all she got in return was the helmet's evil looking grin. "Sure. Come on."

They walked down to the ground floor in silence. And in her head, Claire was cursing everything and everyone.

_Everything's going to be alright? HAH! Who was I kidding?_


	4. Chapter 3: Passenger 457

Chapter 3: Passenger #457

**[05 April 2548]**

**[UNSC **_**Wolf's Sun**_**, Hydra System]**

**[1830 Hours]**

Captain Anthony Ross shook his head in bemusement as the older man paced beside him. He had served on _Wolf's Sun _under Captain Jean Rousseau for six months intervals over the past eight years, and the old man was like his best friend. Normally an off duty meeting at the bridge would have consisted of them chatting at the bow, smoking contraband Cuban cigars that Anthony had somehow smuggled with him. But this meeting was much, much different.

"May I again reiterate that I never lost faith in you once, Jean?" Anthony murmured, reclining in his chair.

"You already have Tony. We were orbiting over the far side of the planet when all of a sudden eight Covenant assault class vessels pop up out of the ether. I entered Slipspace figuring I could draw a few, outmaneuver them, then return with reinforcements. Still, I shouldn't have left you hanging there. For that, I am truly sorry."

"It's alright sir." The _Wolfs Sun _was a fine, fast ship, and in the hands of Captain Rousseau, could hold her own against up to half a dozen Covenant vessels of the same class. But eight, eight was suicide.

"No its not. I was cursing myself the whole time we were running. What if that Assault Carrier had started glassing the planet?" Rousseau tugged at his iron gray crew cut. "I just couldn't live with the thought that…"

"The important thing, sir, is that the Covenant didn't glass us. We're tougher than we look; we held our own against Covenant ground forces. And we had that Spartan there to back us up."

Captain Rousseau's face darkened. "Yes. That was the second thing that was worrying me. A Spartan, running black ops for ONI?" He ran a hand over his face. "That just spells all kinds of trouble."

"I agree sir, but at that particular moment in time, I wasn't about to look a heavily armed horse in the mouth. Quite frankly, I'm willing to bet that the only reason the Covenant didn't glass us right off the bat was because of Spartan-009."

"Oh, I have no doubt that the Covenant didn't start glassing precisely because of that Spartan. That doesn't comfort me any, though." The Captain rubbed his temples, grimacing. "A group of SPARTAN super soldiers on an ONI sanctioned operation? That's Vice Admiral Gordon Bristow all over."

"Bristow, sir?"

"A bad one, Tony. What have you heard of him?"

"Old soldiers' tales, Captain. A lot of stuff up around Reach, pre-Harvest stuff. He was a legend in the NAVSPECWAR sector."

"He certainly was. I knew him back when I was serving as ensign aboard the _Aztec_, and he was a hotshot naval spec-ops Left-tenant. A cold blooded snake, even then. Then he made Captain, moved to ONI, and there have only been ghost stories since then."

"Then, pray tell, how do you know this is his work, sir?"

"Because one of those ghost stories involved Bristow 'recruiting' Spartans for his own program, outside of Halsey's projects. I'd bet my ship that your man, what's his name…?"

"Chief Petty Officer, Double Oh Nine, sir."

"…is one of Bristow's Spartans."

Ross leaned forward, eyes alight. "Well then, we should probably contact Reach. If we have his 'little boy' onboard, Big Daddy Bristow would certainly want to know."

Rousseau stared at the junior Captain until he suddenly understood the gist of his plan. "Anthony, you are a true devil from hell." He turned to the pedestal at his right. "Domovoi?"

The avatar of a large, burly man with a long beard and a coarse and brutally humorous face appeared. "Yes, Captain Rousseau?"

"How is our new guest acclimatizing?"

The pixilated man scowled. After Bravo Company had come aboard, someone got the bright idea of inserting the AI Celsius into the ships mainframe while David-009 was examined by the medics.

"She's a renegade if there ever was one Captain, and there certainly was one."

"Don't let her get to you, Dom. We've caged her in the MAC gun controls and erected the level one fail safes. She can't tamper with anything serious in the meantime."

"Then you clearly underestimate her, and AI's as a whole sir."

The naval Captain sighed. "Dom, just patch me through to Reach. I need to speak with one Vice Admiral Gordon Bristow."

"Can do sir. Please wait one moment."

As the AI began setting up the interstellar communiqué, Rousseau glanced towards Captain Ross, a twinkle in his weary blue eyes. "I wonder how much Bristow would mind us 'commandeering' his unit for a little search-and-destroy op of our own."

"I'd imagine he'd hit the roof, Captain."

"Oh, I'm counting on it." The Captain's features hardened. "He's a renegade if there ever was one. And a merciless son of a bitch to boot. All you have to do is look at the blood in the water…"

"…Blood that sharks will rush to, Captain Rousseau." A soft, cold voice finished. The captain wheeled to face the main screen.

A slight, lean man in his mid-fifties was sitting behind a desk, looking calm and relaxed. His hair was already completely gray, but was still thick and wavy. A beard that once covered the lower half of his face was gone, revealing a thin lipped mouth and a sharp chin accented by gaunt cheeks.

Rousseau saluted. "Vice Admiral Bristow, sir."

The cold gray eyes, around which the skin was wrinkled with age, studied him disinterestedly. "The only question that remains, Captain, who is the shark in this situation?"

The Captain stared back levelly. "I guess I am, sir."

"I concur." Admiral Bristow lit a cigarette, blowing smoke at the screen. "So, I hear you picked up my boy. How is he?"

"Alive, but not exactly kicking. Reports state that he tried to slink away to quarters after coming aboard, that when the medic's got hold of him, they discovered he was a mess. Cracked ribs, broken collarbone, deep stab wound to the shoulder, and a slight concussion." The Captain looked up, face disapproving. "Do you train all your people to ignore injuries like that, sir?"

"Injuries imply accident. Wounds imply action. My people know their capacity, Captain, especially this one."

"Yes sir."

"And what of the others?"

"Two other troopers were recovered from Agricola. All the others were KIA."

"A tragedy." Bristow murmured dispassionately. He glanced up. "Well, I believe then that everything's in order. If you could simply return to Reach with my Spartan, I would be there to collect him, and we can part ways as friends…"

"If I may interrupt, Admiral," Rousseau cut in, "this is not as simple as you'd like to think it is." He set his square cut features. "Frankly, I want to know what ONI was doing on a colony that had been abandoned seven weeks ago."

Bristow eyed the younger man coldly. "That sounds suspiciously like a Captain questioning the authority of an Admiral…" He leaned forward. "Or am I just being oversensitive?"

"I'm not questioning your authority, Admiral, I merely want to know…"

"The purpose behind the operation on Agricola is on a need-to-know basis, Captain. And please, don't make me stoop to your level by saying the ridiculous play on the words 'need', 'to', and 'know'."

The insult slid off Rousseau's skin like water off the back of a duck. "I understand Admiral. But while I'd like to assure you that we would have your operators back to Reach in a hop, skip, and a jump, that's just not going to be the case."

The Admiral's eyes were shining with anger. "And why is that?" He said slowly, menacingly.

Rousseau examined his calloused fingers. "You see sir, we believe that this Covenant battle group we encountered at Agricola is just a small detachment of a much larger offensive in the system. The Covenant could be trying to find uninhabited planets to set up staging grounds for hit and run attacks on any one of our dozen colonies. I've already assembled a joint task group to search and destroy this threat, and your Spartan could really come in handy on any ground engagements…"

"…So you went over my head and 'commandeered' my boy?" Bristow finished for him.

Captain Rousseau smiled broadly. "_C'est la guerre, commandante_. That is war, sir."

Admiral Bristow was quite still for a moment, then leaned back, a quiet smile on his face. "Alright then. House my Spartans, feed them, nurture them back to health, then send them back to me when you're done with them. And Captain, any merchandise returned to me in bad repair will stipulate penalties. I want that on the record now."

"Duly noted," Captain Ross muttered to himself as he lit a cigarette.

"Good hunting, Captain. Make us proud."

"Thank you sir."

The screen flashed, and Bristow was gone. Captain Rousseau turned away with a hearty laugh. "Hahah! The look on his face, Tony! That alone is worth all those strings I had to pull to get this fleet together."

Anthony Ross smiled distantly. "You did great Captain. I thought the Admiral was going to have a heart attack when you said 'hop, skip, and jump'."

Captain Rousseau's smile faded, and a heavy frown settled on his features. "Ahh, that was worth the price of admission. And it told me more than I wanted to know…"

"Sir?"

"Those Spartans we picked up don't work for ONI…they work for _Bristow_. He must be running his own special task force." The older man shook his head. "None of this bodes well for anybody."

"You said that Spartan told you exactly what his mission was?"

"Yes sir, the Spartan said it was a hit. One Elite was the target."

"Thirteen Spartans for one Elite?"

"This Elite was a veteran, sir. Badass Spec-Ops type. According to 009, he was responsible for General Krieger's demise. You remember that one?"

"Strangled in his own camp, surrounded by a battalion of Marines, with no trace of any Covenant within _three _miles? That's not one easily forgotten." The Captain sighed. "Alright, I guess the Spartan's explanation is kosher, but I still don't trust him, not even if he helped you down there, Tony."

"And I'm not disagreeing with you sir. The only thing I'm saying is that we shouldn't judge the horse by its upbringing. That's all."

Rousseau gazed meditatively out into space. "Where's the Spartan now?"

"In the med bay. He'll be there for the night."

"Domovoi?"

The AI reappeared. "Yes sir?"

"I want you to keep a close eye on our new guests."

"Yes sir."

Captain Ross stood to go. "Is that all, Captain?"

Rousseau turned and shook the younger mans hand. "It is, Tony. Get some shut eye."

"Of course. Good evening, Captain."

"Good evening."

**[06 April 2548]**

**[Medical Bay, UNSC **_**Wolfs Sun**_**, Hydra System]**

**[0830 Hours]**

All night, two things had kept him awake.

The first was his cracked ribs and his recently reset collarbone.

The second was his mind, replaying the scene over and over again.

_Sergeant Avalos embraces him in a hug. She isn't that tall; the top of her head only comes up to the middle of his chest. He clumsily embraces her back. He feels incredulous, but at the same time extremely happy. He can just make out the peaceful expression on her face. It's beautiful in the moonlight._

_ Suddenly, impulsively, he bends lower and kisses her forehead. He feels her body tense up immediately in his embrace. Then she's practically pushing away, and inside his head he's thinking…_

_**ENOUGH! **_His mind roared. He snapped to full consciousness in the bright lights of the med bay, involuntarily shivering. His hair rustled on the pillow as he glanced towards the digital clock on the wall. **0832**, it read. Arbitrary time, but nonetheless…

David grunted as he rose and flipped his legs to the floor. His chest was bandaged, and his ribs burned like fire every time he took a deep breath. His shoulder had gauze over it too. The stab wound he had received from Iras back on Agricola would heal fine anyway.

He ran a hand through his short black hair, eyes staring bleakly at the floor. Pain wasn't bothering him, he was used to pain, he tuned it out like the hum from a refrigerator…this was different. This was unknown, which doubled the heaviness with which it weighed upon his mind.

The second he had kissed Avalos, David's "happy feeling" disappeared and reality began biting him in the ass. He knew he was making a mistake, but it hurt, emotionally hurt, to feel Claire push him away…

_Well what did you expect, lover boy?_, the little voice in the back of his head crooned.

_Shut up, _he grated in his mind.

_What's the matter, Davy? You took advantage of her. You should be grateful she didn't try to shoot you on the spot. Now you have to hope she doesn't press charges. What the hell were you thinking? _

David didn't have an answer. And that made him even more pissed off. He glared at the ground until he could feel his rib cage tighten, which sent a flare of pain through his body. His head cleared, the anger flushed away. Shaking his head, he relaxed, breathing slowly.

Footsteps approached, and David looked up as a young black man approached, carrying a bundle. His face was clean shaven and boyish and his laughing brown eyes were utterly relaxed. He glanced down at the Spartan, and his eyes widened slightly. He cleared his throat. "Uhh…excuse me, but are you…uh, are you Spartan-009?"

It was David's turn to be surprise, although he suppressed the reaction to an extra breath in his throat. The young black man before him was Corporal Atwood, the loudmouthed sniper that had covered his back during the ambush on Agricola. "Atwood?"

The Corporal's eyes widened. "Shee-it. It is _you._"

David nodded, favoring Atwood with a small smile. "I had no idea you were black."

"And I had no idea you were a pasty white under that scary ass Halloween mask you call a helmet." Atwood retorted.

David examined his hand. Weeks on end in his armor had bleached his skin with a pallor that looked a little uncommon, although as far as David could tell, it wasn't as bad as other Spartan's.

Atwood tossed the bundle onto the cot- extra large fatigues, regulation underwear, socks, and boots. "Regards from Captain Rousseau on the bridge."

"He knew my size?" David asked.

"No, that AI of yours, Celsius, she requested these from the quartermaster. She also got you hooked up with an officer grade cabin, you lucky bastard. I'm supposed to give you a tour of the ship, show you where the mess hall, restrooms, armory, everything else is."

"I can find my own way, thanks." David grunted as he pulled on the fatigue pants.

"Yeah, well, I'm kinda under orders to give you the grand tour. It's not so much about showing you around so much as keeping an eye on you."

David didn't miss a beat as he pulled on the dark green T-shirt. "The Captain doesn't trust me."

"Bingo. Scuttlebutt is that he had a chat with the 'higher ups' on Reach. Apparently, he didn't like what he heard."

_'Higher ups'? It was Bristow, then._ David tugged on the long sleeved shirt, and found the sleeves to be two inches too short. He glanced up at Atwood, annoyed.

Atwood shrugged. "Don't know what to tell you, buddy."

David growled, and set about lacing up his boots. "So, when will we get back to Reach?"

"I'm not quite sure we're heading back to Reach."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I've been hearing things…"

"Scuttlebutt again?"

"What else? Plus, the task force we're in, its way too big to be a simple retrieve-and-retreat op. The entire Battle Group _Normandy _is here. That's twelve frigates, a few cruisers, even a super carrier, the _Leviathan. _Combine that with a bunch of ships that I can't even track, and I don't know what it all comes out to, but we got a bunch of badass motherfuckers and they're here to stay…of course, that's just my opinion."

David suddenly remembered something, and he snapped his fingers. "Where are Lee and Jennifer?"

"Who?"

"The two Spartans that were with me?"

Atwood rubbed the back of his head, ill at ease. "Don't know. Surgeons took them last night. I'd say they're recovering in the critical unit."

"When can I see them?"

"Probably after debriefing. The Captain wants to see you on the bridge as soon as you've been given the grand tour. So, the sooner the better, right? Ready to get started?"

The boots felt a little tight, and he'd have to roll up the shirt's sleeves or tear them off, but the pants fit fine, for which he was grateful. _Gotta remember to thank Celsius. _

"Sure, let's go."

David followed Atwood out of the medical bay, glad to be rid of its sterile, antiseptic smell. The air inside the ship was cool and clean, clearing his mind. He focused his mind as Atwood showed him throughout the ship.

They passed through the barracks, restrooms, mess hall, armory (where David was grateful to see his armor stored and cleaned) and even the gym. He made a careful mental map of the ship in his head as they passed through each corridor. "Ship's a bit cramped," he commented as he ducked for the millionth time through a bulkhead.

"Small but fast. How do you think the Captain outmaneuvered those bogies that came after him? Besides, she's got more than enough firepower to fight in any battle."

"You're well informed."

"Well, I figure the more I know about anything and everything, the better off I'll be."

"Hmmm. I see."

"What, you disagree?"

"No, I don't. I just think that there are some things that hurt you the more you know about them. Ignorance is bliss, right?"

"…What the fuck are you talking about, you terrifying bastard?"

"Me? I'm just making small talk." His stomach growled audibly as he spoke. "I'm also a bit hungry."

Atwood grinned. "That we can take care of."

"Not yet."

"Why not yet? You're stomach sounded like something very angry and very furry. Plus, I'm famished myself."

"In the first place, I never liked ship grub, for obvious reasons. Secondly, there's the debriefing to think about. Let's visit the Captain first. Then we'll grab some chow, you show me to my room, and we can part as friends."

They were in the weight room of the deserted gym, both leaning against the wall. David towered over the diminutive Atwood.

"Sure, great plan. Bridge is this way."

As he followed Atwood out of the gym, David sensed eyes upon him. His head darted upwards, where windows lined the corridor on the level above the gym. Two heads ducked as his gaze raked the area.

"What is it?"

The heads didn't reappear. David shook his head.

"Nothing. After you."

**[06 April 2548]**

**[UNSC **_**Wolfs Sun**_**]**

**[0905 Hours]**

Sleep hadn't come easy for Claire last night. Even being back aboard the ship, safe, in the familiar barracks with ODSTs snoring peacefully, hadn't helped. Her mind was jumbled with thoughts and worries, and she had tossed and turned almost all night.

Her biggest worry, obviously, was the Spartan kissing her. It had been so sudden, so unexpected; one minute they were hugging, the next she felt his lips press against her forehead. She didn't stop to think about the nature of that kiss. It was one of affection. She had been kissed enough to know that. She especially remembered those gentle kisses that Matt Keller once gave her, the ones that she used to have to stand on tiptoe to receive.

_But that kiss…_she stressed to herself.

That kiss had been pure, a simple expression of affection, with nothing else mixed up in it. But was that all there was to it? Was the Spartan…_attracted _to her?

She woke up late, stiff, sore, and starving. After grabbing a too short hot shower in the restrooms, she had wolfed down a tasteless meal in the mess hall and had wandered around the ship, lost in thought. There was nothing to do, they would probably be heading back to Reach to refit and refuel.

Finally, Claire stopped in the corridor overlooking the gym's weight room. Moodily, she pressed her forehead to the cool glass. She tried to drive the memory of last night away, but it kept coming back. Everything about it was crystal clear and sharply focused, except for the face of the Spartan. Even under the moonlight, he had been standing at an angle that kept his expression in shadow.

Vaguely, she wondered where 009 had gone. After Bravo Company had been brought aboard, he had disappeared with his wounded teammates into the medical bay.

It dawned on her suddenly that he had been seriously wounded. After all, didn't she see him take that knife to the shoulder from that Elite bastard? Hadn't a goddamn gunship fallen right on top of him? Hadn't he fought for almost seven hours straight against the charging Covenant back at Bravo's Nest? And yet the whole time he had never slowed down, never called for a medic. In fact, the only time he had actually looked wounded was when-

In her minds eye, she saw him as she broke away from the hug, slash kiss. His shoulders were hunched, his arms hung loose at his sides, his back was bent, and he looked tired, looked defeated. A far cry from the cold blooded warrior he usually was. He looked like he had just been hit with a killing blow.

_What the hell is with that? _

"Hey." Katy had somehow found her staring blankly into the weight room.

"Hey yourself."

Katy studied her, then said, "You look like hell."

"Yeah, well you look…" She paused as she tried to find fault with her friends appearance. Katy looked rested, her eyes didn't have dark circles, and her hair looked fresh and flowing. "Hell, I give up. You look great."

"Thank you." Katy said grandly, then joined her friend in staring into space.

"So, what are you going to do?"

Claire sighed. "I don't know." She grabbed at her hair, grimacing. "Ahhhhh, this kind of shit is not supposed to happen in real life! This is just some stupid cliché writers use to add drama to those stupid soaps on the tube!"

Katy opened her mouth to speak, but Claire continued on regardless.

"What the hell was he thinking? I mean, I hugged the guy and he takes it as an invite to plant a kiss on me? What the fuck is with that?"

Katy watched her friend vent with one raised eyebrow. When she finally settled back to staring out the window, she cleared her throat. "You done?"

"Yeah." Claire sighed. "Sorry."

"No problem." Katy rubbed her friends shoulder comfortingly. "The only thing was, you're going to have to talk to him."

"Yeah, and why is that-?"

"C'mon, you saw him when you broke away. He looked _crushed_, flat out crushed, honey. He looked worse than when that Elite decked him, remember? I don't know what was going through his mind, but whatever he was thinking, you jumped away like he had AIDs."

Claire bit her lip. She did know, damn it. Somehow, in a way that none of them understood, she had actually hurt 009's _feelings. _"Jeez, is that even possible?"

"What?"

"Is it possible to hurt a Spartan's feelings? Do they even have feelings?"

Katy shrugged as she tousled her hair. "I guess Spartan's are people too. They got feelings just like everybody else. And you managed to hurt ones." She flashed her friend a thumbs-up. "Congratulations! I think you're the first person in history to emotionally wound a Spartan!"

"Shut up!" She shoved Katy and both fell to laughing, ignoring the odd looks from passing crewmen.

Once they both calmed down though, Katy scrutinized her friend and persisted. "But seriously, what are you going to do about David?"

Claire stared. "Why are you referring to him by his first name?"

"Cause he's a person with feelings." She said coyly.

Claire thought about it. "Well, there's not much to do," she said softly. "We're going back to Reach to drop his big ass off, and then that'll be the end of it. With any luck, we'll never come across Spartan-009 again."

"Yeeaaahhh…about going back to Reach? That might be out of the cards right now."

"Say what?"

"Rumor's going through the ship that there are more Covenant in the system. That's why such a big task force showed up to rescue us. We're going on a search-and-destroy run to take them the hell out."

"Wow. How typical of the higher brass."

"…Which would mean that we're going to be working closely with Spartan-009."

"Oh, kill me now."

"Never." Katy growled close to her ear

"Fine, okay, fine. What do you suggest I do?"

"I don't know. I'm just the casual observer…" Katy's voice drifted off. Claire glanced at her friend and saw she was gazing intensely down into the weight room below. Claire followed her gaze.

Below them Atwood, dressed in regulation fatigues, was chatting with a tall soldier. A _very_ tall soldier. He completely dwarfed Atwood, and Claire could guess that he was upwards of seven feet in height.

The soldier had their back to the ODSTs, but Claire and Katy could see that he had jet black hair, cut close to his head. He was dressed in identical fatigues to Atwood, but they were stretched tight across his body, enough so that his musculature was clearly visible.

His shirts sleeves were rolled back from muscular forearms and were wrapped around bulging biceps. His shirt strained against the muscles in his back, narrowing down to his lean waist. The muscles in his legs were clearly defined. He looked like a Michael Angelo statue Claire had once seen in her tenth grade history book- a Michael Angelo statue in fatigues.

Katy whistled under her breath. "Am I crazy, or is that a Greek god standing there with Atwood?"

"I don't think you're crazy," Claire murmured. "But I do think that that bod looks familiar."

"Maybe. I wish that he'd turn around. If his face is half as good looking as the rest of him, I call first dibs!"

"Slut."

"Prude."

"Wait! He's walking away."

The incredibly fit soldier was following Atwood towards the exit, but as if he sensed he was being watched, he suddenly swiveled and glared straight up- directly into the clinging eyes of Private Katy and Sergeant Claire.

They both ducked down, giggling out of sheer nervousness.

"Shit, he turned around fast!"

"Shhh, he might hear us."

"Look over, see if he's still there."

"You first."

"C'mon, you're a smaller target."

Claire cautiously peeked above the railing. The weight room was deserted. "He's gone!"

Both women stood up. "Did you get a good look at his face?" Katy asked.

Claire shook her head. It had been just a flash- poof – then gone. "No. You?"

"Not even close. But still, I know I've seen him before. I'd recognize a bod like that anywhere." Katy sighed, and then looked up and down to see if anyone had noticed their little maneuver. "You want to go to the mess hall?"

Claire declined, watched as he friend walked away, then started off towards the barracks. She shoved her hands in her pockets, lost in her thoughts once more. Except now, they were compounded by the appearance of the statuesque soldier.

Claire had recognized the soldier's body, but what she hadn't told Katy was that in the moment he had glanced back towards them, she had seen a split second glimpse of his eyes. Sharp, dark brown, like an eagle.

She had recognized those eyes, just hadn't imagined them without a wicked toothy grin to match.

The soldier was Spartan-009. David.

**[07 April 2548]**

**[UNSC **_**Wolfs Sun, **_**Hydra System]**

**[1530 Hours]**

David-009 lay on his back in his bunk, arms behind his head and brown eyes lazily studying the ceiling. A faint smile lay on his lips. All was right with his life.

The day before had started off on a rusty note, to be sure, but it had gotten better from the morning on, starting with David's meeting with Ship Captain Rousseau.

Corporal Atwood had graciously bowed him into the bridge, where he had met casually hostile looks from the male deck officers, curious sidelong glances from the female deck officers, and the Captain himself, an aging, grizzled Frenchman with graying blonde hair and weary blue eyes. He had shaken the proffered hand firmly.

"Chief Petty Officer Spartan-009, reporting as ordered, sir."

The blue eyes studied him. "At ease, Chief."

David spread his feet and clasped his arms behind his back, staring straight ahead. "It's a pleasure to meet you sir. I owe you and the task force a great deal."

"The pleasure is…dubious, on my own part, Petty Officer. And as for you owing us a great deal, don't bother. I came back to pick up the men I left behind. You were an unexpected hitchhiker."

ODST Captain Ross joined the two on the main deck. "Unexpected for sure, but certainly not unwelcome." He saluted Rousseau and shook hands with David. "Glad to see you're accommodating well, 009."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

Rousseau waved away the junior officer. "Now that the formalities are done and away with, let's talk turkey, Spartan. I understand you're an ONI agent?"

"That is correct sir."

"Captain Ross filled me in on your assignment on Agricola." He focused squarely on the Spartan. "But I'd like to hear it in your own words, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, sir." David slowly outlined what happened during the op on Agricola, speaking slowly and calmly.

When he had reduced the operation to dust, Captain Rousseau nodded vaguely, and shook his head. "Ten soldiers, Spartans no less, all killed for one Elite…"

David didn't blink. "We cornered the Elite and he came out guns blazing. I lost a lot of good people who could have been saved, but I also believe that they didn't die needlessly. Thirty Spec-Ops Covenant can attest to that."

Captain Rousseau favored the much taller soldier with a hard look. "I'd like to believe you, Chief, but I'm just not feeling it."

"With all due respect sir, you can believe whatever you care to."

Captain Rousseau's expression became like stone. "Do you have a problem, Spartan-009?"

"Me, sir? No. But you sir? You do."

"Really now?"

David let his arms drop to his sides and put his feet together. "You don't trust me, Captain. You think I'm a cold blooded ONI operative. I'm as alien to you as the Covenant."

Captain Rousseau absorbed this statement with considerable thought. "Well spoken, Chief."

"Thank you, sir."

"You're right, I don't trust you. But it's not because you're a Spartan; I respect your breed. I don't trust you because you're one of Admiral Bristow's people. No doubt you're aware of what kind of reputation your commander has?"

"Yes sir, I am aware of Admiral Bristow's reputation. I am also aware, as are you, that men like Bristow, men who aren't afraid to do what is necessary, are what we need in this war."

Rousseau nodded. "I agree, but only if there's no alternative." He smirked bitterly. "I sometimes wonder if Bristow even looks for the other option."

David narrowed his eyes. "When you have your back to the wall sir, you generally don't have time to look for the alternative."

Captain Ross held up his hands. "Excuse me for interrupting this eloquent cock fight, but Captain Rousseau, we're not making any productive gains here."

Captain Rousseau snapped up and slapped his hands on the main display. "Yes, of course." He ran his scalpel gaze over David. "I don't trust your motivations, Spartan, but your combat skills are unquestionable. That is why I'm hoping we can work together."

David nodded slowly. "What did you have in mind, Captain?"

Rousseau brought up the galaxy map of the Hydra star cluster, and David leaned closer as the older man outlined the plan.

"You've probably already guessed this, Spartan, but this isn't simply a recovery operation. We have solid Intel that a Covenant fleet is prowling somewhere in this system, and I am not one to sit on my ass with information like that."

"Higher brass has given the green light, and components from Battle Group _Normandy_, 3rd Fleet out of Io, and a few NAVSPECWAR hardliners have all been called in for this outing. And now, thanks to a short conversation with your commander, we have you."

"I'm hoping that most of our engagements will be restricted to ship-to-ship combat, but in the case the fight comes to ground, I want a team of crack commando's ready to take the fight to those ugly sons-of-bitches."

David nodded, studying the map. "And you want me on this commando squad?"

"Chief…I want you to _lead_ this commando team."

The Spartan started, then nodded. "Can do, sir."

"Good man. Captain Ross?"

Ross came forward with a handful of data pads. "We have in this task force a plethora of hardnosed warriors, Chief. ODSTs, NAVSPECWAR operators, Air Force Combined Rescue Commandos, Army LIDAR (Light Infantry Direct Action Regiment), maybe even a few of your Intelligence buddies. I've assembled dossiers on the best and the brightest. Take your pick, and we'll assemble them here."

Rousseau folded his arms across his chest. "We'll also provide any support you need. Pelican transport, weapon and supply drops, airstrikes, and any infantry unit you need, you will get. I'm placing a lot of power in your hands, Chief. I'm hoping you can accept the responsibility."

David held the Captain's gaze coolly. "You don't have to worry about me, sir."

"I do worry, Chief. That is part of what makes me a damn good ship commander." The Captain was starting to look his age. "It's also part of what's killing me in here," he said as he tapped his chest.

_Fatal flaw, _David thought.

"Is there anything else, Chief?"

A thought suddenly occurred to him. He almost blurted out the words.

"Yes. I worked with an ODST squad while on Agricola. Bravo 2B? I want them on my squad."

Rousseau glanced towards Ross. The ODST captain nodded. "They're one of mine sir. A good bunch, extremely competent, if maladjusted. The Spartan here has an eye for talent."

"You want all of them, Chief?"

"If at all possible, sir."

Rousseau nodded. "Alright. Captain Ross, make it happen."

David saluted. "Thank you sir."

"Dismissed, Chief."

"Sir."

David felt greatly pleased with himself as he walked out of the bridge- directly into the hunched Atwood. The Corporal straightened up hurriedly. David favored him with a bemused look. "Catch anything useful?"

The young man dusted off his knees. "Only that we're going to war, you're leading a prima donna squad, and my outfit is slated for that same squad. Fan-friggin-tastic."

David clapped him on the shoulder, practically knocking the ODST down. "Think of it as an opportunity. A few weeks working with a Spartan, and you could get your pick of any posting you want."

"Hey, I'm fine where I am, okay? I have a rank that get's me decent pay, I have a rifle that never let's me down, and I have a beautiful brunette waiting for me back at home. Three years more, I make Sergeant, I can move to a position as an instructor back at the academy. Three more years, damn it."

David smiled grimly. "You think you're really going to make it three more years?"

"Maybe. But I get the funny feeling that my odds of survival go down a lot when I'm around you. Speaking of which…"

"Fine, go. We'll see each other sooner than not."

Atwood visibly shivered. "I was afraid you'd say that." He walked away quickly, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the Spartan.

David let him go. Reactions like that was food for his ego. He chose to go to his cabin. Might as well see what it was like.

Five minutes later he was standing in the middle of a surprisingly lavish cabin- relatively speaking. It had a decent sized bunk, locker, and even a desk, of all things. _Definitely an officers cabin._

"You don't have to thank me for the set up. I'll just remind you whenever you're thinking of throwing our ass into the fire again."

David glanced up towards the comm. unit in the upper corner of the room. "Celsius, I thought you had been locked into the MAC gun controls?"

"You really think a handful of UNSC firewalls can keep me penned? David, I'm hurt."

David sat on his bunk, testing its firmness. "So how'd you escape?"

"A few routine by passes that repeat at timed intervals. I left one of my sub routines inside the controls, so for all appearances I'm still locked safely inside, throwing a baseball against the wall."

David looked confused. "What?"

"Never mind." The AI sighed. "So, I hear you're acclimatizing well. Put in charge of special task group? Not bad considering you've only been aboard for about ten hours."

"I know. Astounding what a pedigree can do for you in this sector."

"I also heard you requested Sergeant Avalos for your team."

Alarm bells went off in David's head. Seeing where the wind lay, he decided to stop Celsius's "Not So Simple" speech with a brutal preemptive strike.

"Yeah, I did. Sergeant Avalos is a good soldier, something that I neglected last night when I kissed her. It was a lapse of judgment on my part, a potentially serious one, and I want to clear things up with her, and show her that my intentions weren't nefarious in any way. The best way to accomplish both of those tasks would be to place her on my squad and apologize to her. And if you think I'm doing this for any other reasons than those, then keep it to yourself."

There was silence from the AI, and David was about to exit his room and head for the mess hall when Celsius finally responded.

"You know, you could have just found her in the mess hall and apologized to her there. I'm not so sure she'll be thrilled to be on your high risk commando unit."

David stopped. _Oh, yeah. Shit._

"Too late now, I guess." The AI said sweetly. "Ah well, talk to you later!"

David gently thumped his head against the bulkhead a few times on his way out. _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_

That was when he ran into somebody. A pretty young woman dressed in regulation fatigues, with curious blue eyes and long golden rod hair drawn back into a ponytail. David jumped back, even though he had eight inches and at least a hundred pounds on her. "Excuse me, m'am."

The woman eyed him curiously. "Pardon me."

David walked on, but was stopped by the woman's voice. "Excuse me? Sir?"

He recognized that voice now: Private Katy Rawlings, the hyperactive ODST he had met on Agricola. Cautiously he stopped in his tracks. "Yes m'am?"

"You're him, aren't you?" No niceties, no complicated word traps. An up and up question, direct attack through the main gate. David appreciated the blunt force of her direction.

He shrugged, trying to maintain cool nonchalance. "I'm sorry m'am. You're going to have to be more specific than 'him'."

"Chief Petty Officer Spartan-009 specific enough for you?" Her voice betrayed her eagerness.

David smiled ruefully, then turned to face the ODST. He nodded slightly and topped it off with a theatrical bow. "At your service, Private Rawlings."

Katy squealed in a most un-soldier like manner. "Oh my God, it is you! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" She did a few hops in place, seized in a kind of frenzy. "I thought it sounded like your voice, but you sound so different out of your armor I couldn't tell. I had to see your eyes to be sure. If you had the same eyes, it had to be you…and you have the same eyes, so it is you!" She finally calmed down a bit and took a good look at the Spartan, a faint, bold smile on her lips. "I knew you were hot."

Not for the first time today, David found himself dumbfounded by a few simple words. "Hot?"

"Yeah, smokin' hot." She laughed at the nonplussed expression on his face. "Have you ever looked in a mirror?"

David had of course looked in a mirror before, but all he had ever seen staring back was his face: from scrawny and skeletal to angular and scrubby to strong and defined. The only constant had been the brown eyes, which stared with a strange intensity, sharp as an eagle's.

Apparently, Katy, and maybe others, saw something different.

Katy inched dangerously close to David, so that the Spartan fidgeted uncomfortably. She laughed at his obvious unease. "Relax. I don't have cooties."

Again the confusion. "Cooties?"

She laughed again. "Okay, okay. Take it easy. So, what are you doing here?"

Finally, something he understood. "Just settling in. It seems I'm going to be spending some extended time on the _Wolfs Sun._"

Katy's eyes twinkled devilishly. "Really now? I know a certain squad Sergeant who would be very interested in this piece of news."

David's mouth dried quite suddenly and unexpectedly. There was only one Non-Com she could be talking about.

Katy nodded. "Sounds like a story behind this 'extended time'. Care to discuss it over a blue plate special in the mess hall, Chief?" She offered her arm to the much larger soldier.

David recognized the motion, a 20th century custom belonging to a time when men were gentlemen and women were ladies. He took the proffered arm gently, channeling the prose he had once read. "It would be my pleasure, Private."

Katy tried to keep a straight face, failed, and cracked up. Once he realized she was laughing with him, David found himself laughing too. Twice in two days now. What a concept!

Arm in arm, the two soldiers walked towards the mess hall, laughing.

**[07 April 2548]**

**[Mess Hall, UNSC **_**Wolfs Sun**_**]**

**[1320 Hours]**

Claire sighed disgustedly at the rows of food on the lunch line.

_Supports life, not morale._

After little deliberation, she chose the special, spaghetti (or what passed as spaghetti; looked more like ration noodles with ketchup) and a bottle of water. She didn't feel particularly hungry. After passing through the line, she looked around the crowded mess hall, looking for a place to sit. Normally, she'd gravitate towards any members of her own squad that were present, but Atwood was sleeping, Schaefer had disappeared into the weight room. That left Katy.

Claire finally spotted the familiar blonde head towards the rearmost corner, and made her way towards it. As she drew closer she saw her squadmate was not alone, and as she drew even closer, her eyes widened as she saw who Katy was with.

Sitting with his back to the wall and his upper body hunched over his plate was the statuesque soldier she and Katy had spied on in the weight room earlier. And as he glanced up at her approaching figure, and fixated on her with a pair of piercing brown eyes, she realized that soldier was in fact, David the Spartan.

Katy followed David's gaze and leapt out of her seat, a wicked grin growing on her face. "Sarge, I'm glad you showed up. I'd like to introduce you to someone special…"

With inhuman speed the Spartan rose from his seat and rounded the table edge to close distance with Claire. "The esteemed Sergeant Avalos doesn't require introductions in a mess hall, Rawlings." He reached out and took Claire's tray in one hand while the other gripped hers in a warm but unbreakable grip. "And first off, Sergeant, I'd like to apologize."

Claire hadn't even blinked and suddenly the Spartan was right on top of her. "Apologize? F-For what?"

"My behavior back on Agricola. I shouldn't have kissed you without your consent. It was silly and reprehensible, and I feel badly that I took advantage of you at the time. Please, accept my apology." He spoke quietly and earnestly, eyes full of concern.

Claire, on her part, didn't know how to respond. She was within kissing distance of the Spartan, if kissing was what she had had in mind, and he towered over her, filling her vision. Her mind swam as she tried to make sense of what was just said. Katy elbowed her hesitantly. "Sarge? You there?"

"Yeah…I mean y-yes…I mean YES!" She practically yelled. A few curious heads turned in their direction, and she felt her face grow hot. "I accept your apology, Chief."

The Chief's face relaxed. "Thank you, m'am."

She breathed slowly, almost sighing. "You sure have a way of addressing people, Spartan."

He didn't miss a beat as he sat back down. "Training, m'am. Address a situation directly, use the element of surprise, and leave no room for a counter-attack."

"Which would be fine if this was an assault on the Covenant, but you were just trying to apologize to the Sergeant!" Katy's grin had slipped a notch. "Jeez, I'd hate to have you try to apologize to me."

"Don't push it." David muttered, turning his attention back to the mountain of spaghetti on his plate.

Claire sat down, her head still spinning. Katy turned towards her. "Told you that guy in the weight room was him."

"The hell you did." She retorted.

"Well, I'm the one who figured it out first."

Claire decided to keep the fact that she had recognized the Spartan's eyes a secret.

"So, how did this happen?"

"What happened?" Katy asked indifferently.

"This…" Claire motioned towards the Spartan nonchalantly devouring noodles in front of them.

"Oh. I ran into him outside his quarters, we played twenty questions, and I used my subliminal powers of divination to figure it out."

David glanced up. "If I recall correctly, there were two questions. You were as subtle as a kamikaze Grunt."

That took both women by surprise. "A what?"

"A kamikaze Grunt." He put down his fork. "C'mon, you've never seen a Grunt, once the rest of its squad is dead, pull out two plasma grenades and charge forward like a madman?"

The image of the generic Covenant Grunt, with its stubby limbs and its helium infused squeals, charging with two lit plasma grenades was enough to make Katy start to crack up. Claire grinned. "No. You have?"

David smiled, and it wasn't a bad smile either. "Yes I have. The little mongrel blindsided me and almost took my legs off…"

As David dove into the story, Claire couldn't help but notice a distinct difference in the Spartan's demeanor. Back on Agricola, inside his armor, he had been cold and monotone and even occasionally sarcastic, speaking in short monosyllabic sentences. Here, sitting down at a table in a crowded mess hall, he was lively. His voice was low but clear, not gravelly, and would rise and fall as he told the tale. His brown eyes would lighten and darken. His hands were alive too, gesturing and even pantomiming the charging Grunt. He made good use of his face; his pallor and strong jaw, a little intimidating otherwise, were masked by his calm expression.

Once David had reduced the story of the suicide Grunt to dust, and had left Katy in stitches and Claire barely able to suppress her laughter, he had settled back and dug into his spaghetti.

Claire shook her head, chuckling. "Now that was a story worth hearing. Thanks, David."

David paused with a forkful of noodles halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"I'm sorry?" Claire was suddenly wary. David's voice had dropped back to its usual cold monotone.

"You used my name." He looked up, brown eyes confused.

Claire sensed the confusion in his voice and instantly went into alert mode. "Yeah, I guess I did." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to insult..."

"You didn't insult me." David's features were etched in confusion. "It's just that…few people call me by my name."

"No kidding?" Now it was Claire's turn to be confused. Sure, sometimes she felt like her first name had been changed to "Sergeant" but she didn't spas out when someone uttered her birth name…

She suddenly realized how insulting her thoughts had sounded and blushed. David was too confused to notice, staring off into space, brows knitted together in deep thought.

Katy took the opportunity to speak. "I didn't know there was anything wrong with that. You should have told us…"

"There's nothing wrong with it, it's just…uncommon." David rubbed his temples as he tried to explain.

"You see, Spartans, out in the field…we're not names and faces. We're ranks and numbers. Before last year, we didn't exist. In general, the only people who know a Spartan on a first name basis is another Spartan. Telling a non-Spartan your name can compromise you in any number of ways. Allowing someone knowledge of your name is a symbolic act of trust."

Claire and Katy were shocked by this eloquent admission on David's part. Yet somehow, it made sense to Claire.

"It's something you would let a friend do?" She asked tentatively.

David nodded in confirmation.

The ODST Sergeant glanced at Katy, then back at David. "So…does that mean…we could be friends?"

David considered the request over a long sip of water. _Friends? _The concept was familiar but the emotions attached to it weren't. He felt…happy? Was that it?

Spartans didn't have many friends. Not when they officially didn't exist. Not when their fellow Spartans were spread thin throughout the frontlines. Not when the standard Marines they worked with were dropping like flies. Stay detached, stay cold, that's what they were good at.

_Still…_

How bad could it be to have friends? It couldn't be a bad thing, could it?

_You going to be saying that when you're staring at their charred corpses?_

His stomach froze as that familiar voice came back.

_How do you want your ODST cooked, Davy Boy? Well done, or nuclear?_

_ Fuck you, _he thought fiercely.

In that moment he decided.

"Yeah, it does, Sergeant."

Claire grinned. "Then if that's the case, we need to lay down some ground rules."

_Uh oh. _"Like what?"

Katy leaned forward, smiling as well. "Like, stop referring to our ranks and/or last names." She offered her hand. "For instance, my first name is Katy. If you were my friend, you'd call me Katy."

David smiled. He took the hand in his much larger one. "OK, Katy."

Her turn. She offered her own hand to the Spartan. "And I'm Claire."

David gently wrapped his fingers around hers. He could feel himself smiling like an idiot. "Claire." The name formed naturally in his mouth. He even liked the sound of it.

He also realized, at that singular, blissful moment, that this 'friends' thing was probably going to end badly. It wasn't a conscious revelation, just something he felt in his gut.

The rest of the meal passed mostly in amiable silence. David concentrated mostly on his meal, from a habit formed back when he was living on the street, when a 'feast' to him was a piece of bread, or a fresh piece of…

_Ah, bliss. _All his attention was focused on the golden-reddish skin and the snow white flesh on the inside. He crunched the first slice, chewing slowly, letting the cold, sweet juices filter through his teeth and wash over his tongue. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand at attention.

Briefly, he noticed Claire staring at him. Swallowing, he asked, "What is it?"

She blinked. "Sorry, just…wow, I have never seen a person enjoy an apple that much."

The unfamiliar feeling of embarrassment curled in his gut, almost but not quite overpowering the taste of the apple slice.

"It's a…"

"…Spartan thing?"

"No, more like a 'David' thing." He didn't know why he chose to use his own name. It sounded so unfamiliar in his mouth. The letter 'D' rolled strangely on his tongue.

Claire looked at David questioningly. He decided to expand on his explanation.

"I was raised in barracks from age eight. The only thing I remember from my home is that I hated fruit. I was always so…pissed when my mom would substitute pears for chocolate cake at dessert time. Then I was on the street, then to barracks, and I didn't see a fresh fruit for another eight years." He picked up another apple slice, crunched it briefly, and swallowed. "Funny the things that stay with you."

"Yeah." Was all Claire could say. This admission was even more shocking than the first. But in a way, Claire could understand it. These revelations were sudden but they told more about this Spartan than he seemed to know. In a way, it was cementing their friendship.

David crunched down the remaining apple slices, gathered his trash, and eyed Claire's plate. "Are you done?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah."

He took her tray and Katy's too. "See ya later, Claire." It sounded like he was testing how the word sounded.

"See ya."

The two women watched David leave the mess hall, walking with long purposeful strides. Katy glanced at Claire. "'See ya later, _Claire,'_' she mimicked in a deep boom. "He likes you."

Claire nodded. "Yeah, well, we're friends now."

"Friends? How long do you think that will last?"

Claire shot Katy down with a withering look. "When is the last time you heard of a Spartan with a relationship?"

"When is the last time you heard of a Spartan who had feelings?" Katy shot back.

"True that." Claire agreed. She drained her bottle of water and glanced in the direction David had gone. "But I'll admit it, he's definitely not a normal Spartan."

**[1534 Hours]**

A faint knock at the door.

David didn't bother to rise. "Yes?"

The door opened. David looked up. His faint smile disappeared, his eyes hardened.

"What are you doing here?"

The responding voice was calm and a bit quirky. "Me? I'm just checking in on the closest thing I have to a friend. My oh my, aren't you hard to track down?"

"Clearly not hard enough." David rose to a sitting position. "I should have known Bristow would send someone to keep an eye on me."

"He's worried about you Davy Boy, that's all. You are a long way from home." The man smiled broadly, crinkling the insane blue eyes peeking out from close cropped blonde hair. He scratched his scruffy blonde beard. "It's too bad about your squad. Ten Spartan-III's might still be alive right now. Ah well, the target's dead. All's well that ends well."

David, before dining with Katy and Claire, had only one friend, or the closest thing to. The man before him was it.

"Did I ever tell you you're a sociopath?"

"Me?" The man slapped his chest in falsetto hurt. "David, I'm hurt. Here I have to pass up six good assignments to worm my way onto your special squad here. Six assignments, David, all of them quality. Things would have gone, boom!" He licked his lips.

David sighed. "You're right; it's not my place to say what you are. So, that being said, what are you?"

"Ah, that then is the root of it, isn't it now?" The man leaned closer. "I'm a dog chasing a car. I'm a hummingbird chasing a Longsword fighter. I'm just a mouse rolling a thread pin. I'm the shadowy reflection that you pretend you don't see in the mirror."

David felt his skin crawl. His friend had a knack of getting under people's skin. His friend noticed, and smiled horribly.

"You're sick." David growled.

The man shook his head pityingly.

"That is incorrect. I am ONI Lieutenant Matthew Keller. But you can call me Matt."


	5. Interlude: Misshapen Chaos

**Interlude:****Misshapen Chaos of Well Seeming Forms**

Everyone had a plan.

Some people thought that was all they needed to succeed in life: a plan.

Matt Keller used to say, "Every time someone thinks 'I have a plan', Jesus gets a belly laugh".

That usually got a belly laugh out of his small circle of friends. That always got a laugh out of one friend (or more than friend, depending on which year you were looking at) in particular.

Matt Keller never had a plan. If given the option, he would've stayed in high school days forever. He was a solid A student, a beast on the track and field, and a hardcore online gamer. He drifted through freshmen year to senior graduation that way.

Then came the boom.

He decided to join the Marine Corps. The war was getting closer and closer to home everyday, something that tapped into some emotion that Matt didn't even know he had.

If asked, he would have said it was the closest thing he had ever felt to inspiration.

That was when of course, he informed his steady girlfriend of almost three years of his decision. Claire Avalos was famous for her fiery temper, and the resulting fallout from that conversation could be measured on a Geiger counter, it was that nuclear. She broke up with him that day, be it out of spite or as a pre-emptive measure, to save her from the pain that was sure to be hers when she would be informed of Matt's seemingly inevitable death on some distant battlefield.

And so Matt entered the United Nations Space Corps nursing a broken heart and a bad attitude. He got in enough fights with other trainee's that he was almost dropped, but his training sergeant, a grizzled veteran of fifteen years named Graham, saw potential in the trouble young man, and immediately recommended him for Special Forces training.

So Matt went on to serve in a Marine Spec Ops unit for three years. On a whim, he applied to and transferred over to the 105th ODST Division. He almost got burned alive on his first jump, something that left him with an unhealthy obsession with fire. Not surprisingly, he was his team's ordnance and demolitions expert.

Then out of the blue, Claire Avalos appeared out of the ether, entering the same company he was slate to. He had confronted her, she had given as much lip as he did to her, and what was left of their relationship was destroyed in a series of fiery exchanges that spanned three months.

Keller, an emotional misfit, could never find the right words to tell Claire why he was so pissed that she had followed him into the Corps: that he was afraid that she would die in the war. Never mind him, the hell with him! He wasn't worried about his own life, but even the thought of her beautiful skin, burned by searing Covenant plasma, turned his stomach to water.

And the thought that that might happen under his watch was too much to bear.

So Matt, unable to articulate these deep thoughts, transferred out of the division. It was then that his volatile record received attention of the Office of Naval Intelligence. It was the perfect job for someone who wanted to disappear. Matt joined and became team leader for one of its covert ops teams, running stings against priority Covenant installations.

That was, until he and his team was captured on assignment. Three men were killed right off the bat, another two died from their injuries, leaving three men and two women. Matt, being singled out as the leader, was submitted to all kinds of torture for information. The Covenant were curious about these secret ONI teams that struck from the shadows and disappeared just as quickly. Curious enough to keep Matt and another man alive, barely so. The other man and the two women- Jackal food.

For nearly six months, Matt was beaten, shocked, starved, whipped, burned, drugged, and poisoned by brutal and pragmatic Elites in black Spec-Ops armor. They warbled to him in their strange tongues, sometimes asking in broken English if there were other teams like them, and if so, where they were in this particular star cluster. Matt never told, not because he refused to- by the third month he would have given his mother over just to end the pain- but because he flat out didn't know if there were other teams out there.

The Elites didn't seem to notice, or if they did they didn't care. They relished their opportunity to beat a human brainless, judging by their laughs.

In between sessions the Elites would toss him into a cell with the other human prisoner, an Army veteran named Emil Volkov. The man was a hulking Russian with a shaved head and a calm, detached personality.

During those months in captivity, they learned to talk.

_Matt tugged off his boot with a groan. Today, the Elites had wised up and gone after the only place they had yet to bruise- his ankles. One of them felt broken._

_ Beside him, Volkov aided in removing the boot, his large hands surprisingly gentle. "Easy. Bad sprain on that one. Nothing to do but wrap it." He set about tearing a strip of cloth from his sleeve. _

_ As the boot was removed, a small plastic bag fell out. Matt reached for it, broke the seal, and removed the contents: a small photograph. He smiled, pain suddenly forgotten, as he gazed at the shot of himself and Claire in his arms. It had been just after they had started dating._

_ Volkov took a glance at the picture. Matt handed it to him, and the Russian's large gray eyes mournfully perused the picture. "A girlfriend?"_

_ "At one time, yes." Matt hissed as he began wrapping his swollen ankle. He finally gave up and sighed, his head thumping the wall. _

_ "It's over between us, me and her."_

_ The Russian handed back the picture and carefully began to wrap the ankle. "Sorry."_

_ "Don't be." He laughed, coughing like a sick dog. "You remember how I told you I don't believe in plans?"_

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "Well, we broke up over the only plan I ever made."_

_ Matt went on to tell Volkov how he had planned to serve a few tours of duty, earn enough cash to go to college, then, once he had a steady job, he would build a home, a home for Claire and himself._

_ Volkov didn't say a word until Matt had finished. "You planned to wed her?"_

_ Matt didn't take his eyes off the photo. "Yeah, at one time, yeah."_

_ "But I'm guessing you did not inform her of plan?"_

_ Matt laughed again. "What, and have her laugh in my face? All my life I preached that 'no plan' shtick and now I had a plan? She'd never let me live that down."_

_ The Russian shook his head disapprovingly as he tightened the ankle wrap. "That pride, Sergeant, will get you killed one day."_

_ "That pride is the only thing keeping me alive." Matt's smile faded as he thought about it. "Sooner or later these Covenant fuck-mook's are going to figure out I don't know squat, instead of just holding out on them out of pride. Then they're gonna shoot me in the back of the neck and toss me out the nearest goddamn airlock. I'm fucking dead, I'm just living on borrowed time."_

_ Volkov nodded sympathetically. "Yes, we both live on borrowed time. Our only hope, is that when the sharks do smell blood, we may get to die with boots on our feet."_

_ Matt favored his cell mate with a strange look, then remembered he wasn't wearing boots, caught the irony of the statement, and laughed hoarsely. Volkov grinned broadly, revealing silver caps on his teeth._

The photograph, and those talks with Volkov, were the only thing that kept Matt alive in those months.

Of course, the Covenant ruined that too.

One day, the Covenant took both Matt and Volkov out of the cell and tossed them into a kind of cage. Chattering Grunts and hissing Jackals surrounded the bars and set up a loud clamor. Matt, delirious from hunger and thirst, barely registered. Volkov wasn't faring much better, but he had enough sense to rise to one knee.

Crouched on the top of the cage, two Elites tossed down large, unwieldy pikes with razor sharp edges. The larger of the two Elites used a third prod to coerce Volkov to pick up one of the pikes. Matt roused himself long enough to try and make sense of what was going on.

Volkov looked up, his pockmarked face sorrowful. "It seems, Sergeant, that they want us to fight to the death."

Matt smiled, lips dry and cracked. He waved him away. "It's okay, you win." He whispered through a parched throat.

"There is now winner in this one, Sergeant." With that, Volkov tossed the pike down, struggled to his feet, and folded his arms across his chest. Matt found a surge of energy long enough to rise to his own feet.

The Grunts and Jackals screeched disappointment. The Elites roared and gestured to the crowd. In the blink of an eye, two Grunts had scaled the cage bars and dropped down on top of Matt. In his weak state, he couldn't fight back.

The two Elites jumped down and confronted Volkov. Practically shoving the pike in his hand, the larger Elite pointed towards Matt and growled. Volkov locked eyes with Matt.

Matt smiled weakly, as if to say, _Fuck it. Might as well go for broke._

Then Volkov smiled back, showing those silver canines of his, and mumbled, "Well, I guess this is it. I'm sorry, Sergeant."

And with that, Volkov swung the pike at a frightening speed. The sharp head of the weapon collided with the smaller Elites head and the tall alien fell to the ground, a massive gash spilling cobalt fluid across the floor.

The larger Elite roared in anger and tackled Volkov. Instantly, a half dozen Grunts leapt over the cage bars and began assisting the Elite as they beat Volkov mercilessly. Matt could only watch as the massive Russian took blow after blow, silently, squirming his bulk in a hopeless, meaningless attempt to dodge the next kick, the next scratch.

Watching his last friend in the galaxy being beaten to a pulp by a gang of aliens, something inside Matt snapped. He jammed his elbow into the first Grunt, shoved the second one in the chest, and grabbed the little creatures Plasma Pistol as it stumbled away.

Before anyone could tackle him, Matt rose to his knees, aimed- and fired a single plasma bolt into Volkov's face. The Russians massive head snapped back, then lolled. A neat, round hole on his forehead smoked gently. His sad gray eyes stared into eternity.

Matt dropped the pistol to the ground. The last conscious thing he did, before the gang of Grunts turned their attention to him and beat him senseless, was raise his right hand and give the entire crowd of Covenant the middle finger.

**Two weeks later…**

Time had lost its meaning to Matt Keller. He lay alone in his cell, curled up, a vacant, empty smile on his emaciated, skeletal face.

After he had euthanized Volkov in the cage, the Elites had doubled the pressure on him. For the life of him, Matt didn't know why they bothered still. Whether he surrendered information or not, whether he screamed during the beatings or not, whether he ate and drank or not, it didn't matter. He was dead, dead as Volkov.

Speaking of which…

_A clearing of the throat resonated in the tiny cell. Matt rolled over and faced the source of the noise._

_ Volkov sat with crossed legs, back against the cell wall. He looked pretty good for two weeks dead; the only thing that was different was the color. Where his skin was once slate gray, he was now a light blue. Oh, and that hole in his head, that too. Besides that, he looked fine. Spending your death in the vacuum of space probably did that for you._

_ "Volkov." Matt mumbled, licking his lips to try and speak better._

_ "Sergeant. Good to see you."_

_ Matt smiled, even though he was zapping Volkov with animal hatred on the inside._

_ "You are a miserable fucker."_

_ Volkov shrugged. "I know."_

_ "You left me here to stew in this particular brand of Purgatory. You're warm and safe in the afterlife, and I'm still rotting away here, taking the beating you should have taken."_

_ Volkov shrugged again. He seemed unfazed by Matt's malnourished hate, which only served to infuriate more._

_ "You knew what you were doing. You knew I would go for the pistol and put you out of your fucking misery. You killed yourself without laying a hand on yourself."_

_ "So, I killed myself. I leave you in this shithole. Yes, I do that. But tell me: does it look like I am warm and safe in so-called 'afterlife'?"_

_ Matt couldn't respond to that; the effort of speaking had left him exhausted. Volkov continued._

_ "Besides, if you are so pissed, why not kill yourself? Wait until guards bring you out for torture session, go for gun, and kiss world good-bye with muzzle of pistol?"_

_ Matt still didn't respond._

_ "You are dead anyway, Sergeant. Another day or two, and you'll be here with me, chatting about nothing again. If you're lucky, you'll see your girlfriend soon too."_

_ That was enough to force Matt to respond. "She's… not… dead."_

_ "Here you are, a corpse waiting to be sent to the grave, and you talk about 'not dead'? We're all dead, Sergeant. You, me, your girlfriend, her new lover, humanity, Covenant. We're all dead anyway."_

_ Matt couldn't respond. His mouth felt like it was bleeding._

_ After awhile Volkov disappeared, leaving Matt alone with his thoughts. He didn't move, he barely breathed or blinked, all he did was stare at the floor, tasting the foulness in his mouth._

_ All the while those words ran through his head._

_ We're all dead anyway we're all dead anyway we're all dead anyway we're all dead anyway we're all dead we're all dead we're all dead Humans Covenant galaxy we're all dead I'm dead you're dead let's all be dead together be dead in the glory of death now I lay me down to sleep I pray the lord my soul to keep Claire you're dead I'm sorry I'm dead to just like Volkov said said just like Volkov ..._

He didn't know how much time passed, him alone with his thoughts and with Volkov's ghost. He just knew that the only change came when the guards outside started screaming. He didn't move, didn't even make an attempt to listen better. He simply lay there, infinitely interested in the pattern of the alien metal inches from his face.

Suddenly gunfire rang out, the whine of plasma being met with the dull cough of suppressed Human weapons. An Elite roared, then gurgled, and was finally silent, and Grunts squealed as an explosion rocked the holding cells. Then silence.

Boots clattered outside his cell, a low growl as the plasma holding field was deactivated, and suddenly a rough hand was turning him on his back. Peering into his face was a shiny, evil looking smiley face. A pair of sharp brown eyes peeked out from a boomerang shaped visor.

"We have a live one here! Sergeant…" there was a pause as the smiley face read the tag on his tattered jumpsuit. "…Keller! He needs immediate attention!" The face flashed back again. "Don't worry Sergeant, we're getting you out of here."

Keller barely noticed as he was raised and lowered to a collapsible stretcher, barely noticed as they hurtled through the corridors of the Covenant ship, down to the docking bay, onto a waiting Pelican, and hurtled out of the hold and into space.

He only kept thinking about the soldiers words.

_We have a live one here!_

How could any soldier mistake him as alive?

**Three months later…**

Keller was fully conscious. He knew that much. For weeks he had been treated for severe malnutrition, undressed torture wounds that settled into white, shiny scars, and shock.

Now he was conscious.

The only problem was that Volkov wouldn't go away. He had shown up about a week ago, this time looking a little worse for wear. His corpse must have gotten caught in a ships exhaust trail, because his pale blue skin looked a bit seared, particularly on his arms and chest. That wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that Volkov never quit talking.

"_How do you feel, Sergeant?"_

_Matt didn't answer. He was trying to pretend Volkov wasn't there._

"_You think you're going insane, don't you? You need not fear, you're already insane."_

_**Ignoring you ignoring you ignoring you ignoring you**_

"_You can ignore me all you want, but that does not change fact that you are dead man talking to ghost."_

_**Ignoring you ignoring you ignoring you ignoring you**_

"_Fine, I quit. I won't bother you again. Just one thing? I am proud of you."_

…

"_You surprised? Well, I am proud. Proud that you lived. You killed your only friend to endure more torture and starvation, and for what? For what's coming next?"_

_**What?**_

_A man sat down next to Matt's cot. A real, tangible man, not a ghost; although, he did look a bit like a ghost. The man smiled, although his gray eyes were emotionless and cold._

"_Sergeant Matthew Keller. A pleasure to meet you in person."_

_Matt shifted in his bunk, rubbed the side of his head. His hair had grown longer._

_**My 2**__**nd**__** grade teacher called me Matthew. My friends called my Matt. Far as I know, you're neither.**_

"_And as far as I know, Sergeant, you are a dead man." The old man began leafing through a file. "Listed MIA eight months ago, listed KIA four months ago, found and recovered during sting operation aboard disabled Covenant frigate three months ago. Only known survivor of ONI Operational Detachment-Gamma 2-7." The man favored Matt with a pseudo-kindly expression. "And survive you did. Almost five whole months tortured by the Covenant, and you lived to tell the tale."_

_**I lived?**_

"_Obviously, or otherwise you wouldn't be resting comfortably in this hospital. You, Sergeant Keller, showed a remarkable will to live- a particularly useful talent. And I pride myself for having an eye for that kind of talent."_

…_**Who are you?**_

"_Admiral Gordon Bristow, Director of ONI's Asymmetric Warfare department. And I am offering you, Matthew Keller, a job."_

_Matt looked towards Volkov. The dead man nodded encouragingly. "I was the first step, Sergeant. This, this is the second."_

_**What are you offering?**_

"_I'm offering you a chance for retribution. You didn't yield to the Covenant when you had nothing, now I want to give you everything. The training, the tools, the information; you already have the motivation for the fight. I am offering you a chance to become the Covenant's worst nightmare, to take the fight to the enemy and actually see results, to know that you are making a difference with every action you take."_

_**You'd give me all that?**_

"_Without hesitation. But quite frankly Matthew, all that means nothing without you. All the equipment and training in the galaxy means nothing without the heart of a soldier to back it up. You have heart Matthew. You would not have survived your trying ordeal otherwise."_

"_You were never given a choice before Matthew. Now you have one. You can take my offer or leave it, whichever suits you. It all matters on what you want."_

_Bristow settled back in his chair, hands clasped across his knees._

"_So Matthew, what do you want?"_

_Matthew considered only a few moments before smiling horribly._

_**I want to do my part.**_

"_And, pray tell, what do you need to do your part?"_

_** Fire. Gasoline. Explosives. Opportunity.**_

___A note of hesitation in Bristow's voice. "That's your plan?"_

_ Matt's smile grew wider._

_**Who said anything about a plan?**__ He cackles_

_**I'm just going to toss everything into a fire, and watch it all burn. **_

_ Behind Bristow, Volkov laughed insanely._

_ In his mind, Matt could hear that laugh span eternity. ___


	6. Chapter 4:I Hardly Knew Ya

Chapter 4: …I Hardly Knew Ya

**[07 April 2548]**

**[UNSC **_**Wolfs Sun**_**]**

**[1540 Hours]**

ONI Agent Matthew Keller plopped down on the bed with childish abandon, testing its springiness. "Quite the room, David. Celsius really pulled some strings for you."

Celsius spoke up from the comm., her voice tart. "I didn't pull any strings. David's physical size necessitated the Officers grade cabin."

"Ooh, now isn't that interesting?" Matt had removed a clasp knife from his pocket and an apple from his bag. He stabbed the fruit with casual viciousness, tore off a chunk of the red skinned fruit, and stuck the whole blade into his mouth, almost cutting his tongue.

David eyed the fruit distastefully. "Captain Rousseau put me in charge of this special mission unit, Keller. Granted me complete authority over its personnel, tactics, support, the whole deal." He leaned against the desk. "I'm just wondering where that leaves you."

"Standing at your right hand, advising, observing, and reporting, in that exact order." Keller took another jagged slice of apple, chewing with his mouth open. "My only duty is to make sure that you don't fuck up between here and the landing zone, and from landing to extraction."

"And you would have the power to veto David's decisions if you believed that they would compromise the unit or its mission?" Celsius put in.

Keller shrugged. "For the greater good." He shivered, smiling idiotically. "Ooh, I love using that phrase. It's so much nicer than simply saying 'fuck you' to someone."

David returned the smile humorlessly. "Typical Bristow."

"He just wants what you want David. And in this case, both of you want to kill a lot of Covenant soldiers in a short amount of time. He's just making sure you follow the right path." Keller tossed the half eaten apple into a corner, wiped his mouth, and closed the switchblade. "Now, on to the business of today. Show me the operators you chose."

David picked up the dozen or so files he had selected from nearly sixty candidates. Matt accepted them gracelessly and thumbed through them, eyes disinterested.

"Hmm, interesting. Ooh, now that's tickling me pink." He tossed the most of the files on the bed and started on the first. "Douglas Sax, Staff Sergeant, Army LIDAR veteran." He glanced up curiously. "Don't they call those boys 'The Scanners'."

"Yeah."

"Okay then, this particular Scanner is trained in demolitions and small unit tactics. Two tours, distinguished service, and a handful of medals. Cookie cutter specialist. Perfect."

He tossed the file aside and picked up the next. "Airman First Class Hannah Dietrich, Air Force Commando. Relative newcomer, only one tour under her belt, no medals. Trained in advanced field medicine and first aid, glowing commendations from her training staff." He flipped the dossier and showed the Airman's picture to David. "And so cute to boot, David. The crew cut turns me off a bit, but I think it gives her a nice 'tom boy' look."

David favored Keller with an expressionless expression. Keller took no notice as he thumbed through the third dossier.

"Lance Corporal Carson Wheeler, technical communications expert and advanced reconnaissance, survival, evasion, and resistance specialist. Supposedly the only survivor of a platoon of ODSTs who landed to engage the Covenant on some small planet. Five days on his own, the only scratch being a mild touch of malnutrition." Keller grinned. "I feel like I have competition here, David."

And so it went. All twelve dossiers, filled with insane and annoying quips on Keller's part. David could have tuned him out easy enough, but he didn't. Keller was sociopathic and insane, but through no fault of his own. David was very much aware of _whose _fault it was. The mere fact that he shared in this knowledge, and still managed to smile in Keller's emotionless eyes, caused him a great deal of pain. This pain wasn't physical, but went deeper than that; it ate into a foreign entity that occasionally invaded David's mind in moments of self-doubt.

A normal person might have called such an entity a 'conscious'.

So that was why he suffered through Keller's quips

_Because you know that deep down in places you don't discuss with soon-to-be-barbecued ODST's at a mess hall table, its your fault that your only friend is psychotic mess who would as soon kill you as look at you, depending on his fancy._

_Thanks for the reiterating exactly what I know. Why don't you recite the A,B,C's for me next? _He spat back viciously.

The voice inside his head snickered. _This public service announcement was brought to you by Humans-Against-Psychological-Conditioning Society. Have a nice day._

Keller jumped up and tucked the files under his arm. "Well, that about wraps it up. I'll take these to the Captain and reel in your new batch of meat puppets. They'll be here by morning, so let's call up a Boy Scout meeting at, say, 0930 hours tomorrow?"

David eyed him dubiously. "What happened to me calling the shots?"

"Oh, fuck sticks, David, you've caught me micro managing. I really got to learn to stop doing that, don't I? Well, just feel free to call the meeting whenever you feel like it."

David nodded wearily, cradling his face in his hands. "No, no, just call the meeting for 0930 tomorrow. And get some rest while you're at it. And no, that's not an order. That's just a suggestion coming from a Petty Officer to a Lieutenant Junior Grade."

"Suggestion noted. Anything else?"

"Yes. There are four more names you need to round up- a squad of ODSTs I worked with back on Agricola."

"Oh-ooh, do I detect a soft spot here?"

"They're a good bunch, that's all."

"And their particulars…?"

"Squad 2-Bravo, Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 105th. They're on this ship right now, so hunting them down won't be too hard. Look for the Sergeant. Woman named Avalos."

Keller blinked- a glitch in his façade, _click_, then it was gone- and nodded. "Alright." He opened the door and bowed himself out of the room, eyes deceivingly humble. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

It took David a few moments after Keller left to realize that he didn't know if the psychotic Lieutenant was even billeted on the _Wolf's Sun_. Sighing in vexation, he crashed onto his bunk, detesting the warmth left from Keller's body. He rolled over and stared at the ceiling, drumming his fingers against his chest.

Keller being here would complicate things. The added bonus of his being Bristow's eyes and ears during this incursion didn't help either. David knew Bristow, knew his works, and knew that what Captain Rousseau had said earlier was at least partially true. Bristow was no saint.

_And he's always the first to admit it, _David thought, feeling the old admiration for his commander well up in him. The man wasn't afraid to do the dirty jobs, the jobs that if made public would make humans feel ashamed of being human, but at the same time he also knew these jobs were necessary. He had the conviction to get these jobs done, but didn't retain a zealots single minded fanaticism. When he briefed David and his other operatives about missions to assassinate, bomb, demoralize, and terrorize the Covenant, it was always with a faint tinge of irony. It was like he was telling his men, _This is what he have to do, in the present; but this is not what we will be doing when our backs aren't up against the wall. _

_This is not what we will be doing when life is worth living again._

If David could have made everybody understand that, he would have. But even with all his reading and his intellectual thoughts, he couldn't explain it, so he set his face and let people talk about his commander- his father- in the way they did. Soldier on, never yield, just like Bristow had taught him.

David yawned, checked the clock on the wall. It was a quarter to 1600 hours, by the arbitrary ship time. Suddenly David wanted to get out.

He lithely sprang up. "Celsius, by chance did you requisition some…?"

"…work out clothes from the quarter master? Of course. I'm nothing if I don't attend to my Spartan's every need in and out of combat."

David smiled sweetly at the ceiling. "Thanks, mom." Crossing over to his locker, he opened it and drew out a sleeveless T-shirt, a pair of black shorts, and white sneakers from the contents. He changed quickly, left his room, and sauntered down the corridors in the direction of the weight room.

He met many crewmen along the way, and felt more than a few pairs of eyes take a second glance as he passed. He repressed a smile. Tall, dark haired, pale, and built like a Renaissance statue. Not a common sight, by any standards.

Even more eyes turned towards him as he entered the ships weight room. At least two dozen servicemen, ship crewmen and ODST's alike, were working out at the various stations, with pulsing rock music from the rooms built in sound system mixing with the clanks of metal and grunts from the soldiers. All eyes turned towards David as he entered. He paused in the entrance, placed his hands in his pockets, and stared back coolly, surveying the crowd before him. All the faces were strangers to him, and vice versa. The music continued, but it seemed like an awkward silence suddenly permeated the room.

Suddenly someone shut off the music, completing the silence and raising the awkwardness to a new notch.

"Good afternoon." David said. His overture fell on deaf ears and staring eyes.

David glanced behind him, and noticed that solid line of soldiers had formed behind him. A slight smirk touched his lips.

One soldier detached himself from the line, a hulking individual dressed only in a pair of long gray sweat pants. His chest and arms were bulging with muscles, and sweat shone on his dark crew cut. Black eyes studied the Spartan behind blunt, square cut features, and he finally offered his hand to David. "I'm guessing you're the Chief?"

_Schaefer_. So this was the relatively soft spoken ODST he had met back on Agricola. He accepted the bone crushing grip with his own hand. "I am. And I'm guessing you're Schaefer. It's nice to meet you face to face."

"And not in a war zone for that matter." Schaefer turned back towards his fellow soldiers. "It's all right, guys. The Chief here means no harm. Go about your business."

Evidently his word carried weight in the weight room, because everybody let out an unconscious shrug and turned back towards their exercise, some muttering to themselves. The music started up again, as loud as ever.

"Hmm, I've never had that kind of reception before." David murmured.

"Most people here have only heard of a Spartan," Schaefer said off handedly. "It's not a normal sight for them."

"I'd guess not." David nodded towards the hulking ODST. "Thanks for that."

"No problem." Schaefer looked disinterested. "But don't think this means that you're my friend, cause you're not. I've seen you in action, Chief, which is enough for me to respect you. On the same token, you're also a cold hearted bastard, which is enough for me to dislike you. Just so we understand each other…"

"Noted," David replied, voice arid. "See you around." He walked away as Schaefer turned his attention back towards his dumbbells.

**[07 April 2548]**

**[Weight Room, UNSC **_**Wolfs Sun**_**]**

**[1622 Hours]**

After eating lunch, and making friends with the Spartan, Claire had filed a few after action reports she had neglected of late, hung around the barracks, and finally dropped down onto her bunk and dropped into a light depression of sleep. She had hoped it would help ease her troubled thoughts, but did nothing but leave her feeling even worse when she woke up.

_Friends with a Spartan. _The concept was as alien as being friends with one of those squid chinned Elites. Claire was an ODST, damn it, she knew nothing about Spartans, except that they were mobile killing machines who were fifty percent machine, fifty percent killer. Hell, that was all anyone needed to know about them. Machines didn't have friends, and neither did killers.

And yet she remembered her words: _So…does that mean…we could be friends?_ At the time it had seemed like a perfectly normal idea. David- _the Spartan, the Spartan, damn it_- was curiously disarming, the way he talked, the way he told the story of the Kamikaze Grunt. She had felt herself warming up to him…

_Okay, stop right there, _she chided herself. That was dangerous territory and she knew it.

Around 1615 hours, sick of being alone with her thoughts, she changed into close fitting shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt and made her way down to the weight room. An hour or so with the cycle and the punching bag, and she'd be too tired to think. That would be her best therapy right now.

She was surprised as she ran into a crowd of servicemen and off-duty ODST's, peering through the long windows overlooking the weight room. She spotted a familiar looking blonde head in the crowd, and tapped her on the shoulder. "What's going on Katy?"

Katy didn't bother to look back. Her voice was filled with awe. "He's in the weight room."

Claire didn't need to ask who 'he' was. She squirmed her way past a tall gangly Ensign and looked down.

David was in the far corner of the weight room, arms and legs pumping as he ran on a treadmill. His bare arms, pale and muscular, glistened with sweat. His eyes were set in a half glare, gazing into the middle distance as his mouth opened and closed to take in fresh gulps of air.

Katy appeared at Claire's side. "Impressive, isn't it?"

Claire didn't respond immediately. She watched as the Spartan reached out, cranked the speed up a notch, and pistoned his limbs into a blur as he sprinted for nearly a minute and a half. He finally set the treadmill to walking speed and put his hands at his hips. His broad chest, clearly defined against his gray muscle shirt, rose and fell as he caught his breath.

Claire shrugged and began extricating herself from the crowd, dragging Katy with her. "Impressive, yeah. But not enough to just stand here. C'mon."

"What, you're going down there?"

"Yeah, you and I have a date in the boxing ring."

Katy groaned. "Claire, the last time we did that, my ribs were black and blue for a week!"

"What's the matter, you want to keep your skin soft in the off chance someone decides to steal you away and make sweet love to you?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah. I'm imagining it'd be a certain seven foot tall super soldier with piercing brown eyes, a soft smile, and a hard…"

"That's far enough." Claire cut her off quickly. Katy grinned as she realized she had gotten under her Sergeant's skin.

The grin quickly faded as they entered the boxing ring, strapped on the practice pads, and Claire proceeded to launch a brutal onslaught of fists and feet into the boxing pad Katy held. Most of the blows landed on the pad, but enough missed their target (intentionally or otherwise) to cause Katy to flinch, cringe, and shudder. Claire sensed this frailty and laid on more pressure, increasing the speed of the blows until her arms and legs blurred.

Finally, Claire landed a kick onto the pad that had enough force to cause Katy to stumble back. "Goddamnit, Sarge," she gasped.

Panting, Claire managed a grin and undid the straps of her gloves to wipe the sweat off her forehead.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side, Sarge." Schaefer had wandered over to the edge of the ring. He tossed Claire a bottle of water, which she accepted gratefully.

"Schaefer, how long have you been in here?"

"Coming on to two and a half hours. Got to keep in shape, don't I?" Schaefer flexed his bulging bicep on his right arm as demonstration.

"Yeah, but there's such a thing as too in shape, Steroids," Katy teased, using a nickname Schaefer hated.

"Hey, at least I'm not the Sergeants punching bag over here." Schaefer grinned as Katy gingerly poked her ribs, flinching.

"Yeah, you're right. C'mon Claire, there's got to be someone better suited to this job." Katy glanced pointedly at Schaefer. The bulging ODST put his hands up. "No way, Jose."

"Ugh." Katy scanned the crowd in the weight room and her eyes lit up. "Ah, I've got it." She pointed towards the barbells, where David was quietly benching three hundred pounds in intervals.

Claire gave her a venomous look, but Katy took no heed as she cupped her mouth. "David!"

There was an audible clank as the Spartan lowered the barbell onto the rack. With remarkable grace, he rose from his bench and appeared beside Schaefer. "Katy. Schaefer." He nodded to both, and offered a small smile. "Claire."

Before Claire could respond, Katy had jumped out of the boxing ring. "God am I glad you're here! Claire here wanted to do some boxing, and we were wondering if you might be able to take over as-"

"- the Sergeant's punching bag? Yeah, I heard."

Katy raised an eyebrow. "You did?"

David smiled again, tapped his ears. "A good soldier's always observant. _Semper Vigilans, _always vigilant- that's ONI's motto."

Claire and Schaefer stiffened at the mention of David's enigmatic office. The Spartan took no notice as he strapped on the protective gear and took up the boxing pad. He nodded coolly towards Claire. "Whenever you're ready, Sergeant."

Claire gave him a strange look. "You can't be serious…?"

"Dead serious. What, you're afraid that you'll hurt me?" A devilish gleam had crept into the Spartan's brown eyes. "Because I highly doubt you will."

Claire stared him in the eye. "Alright then." She tied her hair back, strapped on her gloves, and launched into the assault.

She quickly found a few things out. The first was that David was a lot stronger than Katy; blows that would have sent the ODST Private stumbling glanced off the pad without a dent.

The second thing was that David was a lot faster than Katy. He moved his arms quickly, blocking all the blows, even those that would have missed the pad and hit him in the chin or the stomach. On impulse, Claire aimed a kick directly for the soldier's crotch, and he swatted her foot away with ease.

The third thing Claire learned came five minutes later, when, after going into overdrive for nearly a whole minute trying to get past the pad and actually land a blow on the Spartan (and failing miserably) she had collapsed against the ropes, panting. David grinned and tapped the pad with his free hand. "Well, now that you've got the hang of it, go at it with feeling!"

Claire favored him with a sour look as she caught her breath. "What…do you think…that was?"

"Practice." He dropped the pad, stripped off his boxing gear, and grabbed the water bottle to take a swig. Claire noticed that his arms, up close, weren't as big as Schaefer's. He looked more like a runner or a sprinter than a weightlifter, lean, but with clearly defined muscles.

David passed her the water bottle, and she accepted it gratefully. He watched her as she drank. "You know, you can tell a lot about a person by the way she fights."

_Oh boy, _Claire thought. "Really, you don't say?" She tossed the water bottle to Schaefer and crossed her arms at her waist, staring evenly back at the Spartan. "So what can you tell about me?"

David wiped his face with the back of his hand and considered his words carefully before responding. "You studied UNSC Marine Corps Martial Arts, and became very proficient in it. But you became proficient at your own expense, under somebody else's tutelage, which would explain the chip on your shoulder, and why you use the Martial Arts with such disdain while boxing."

Matt Keller had taught Claire the intricacies of the MCMA. _Score one for the Spartan. _Her face remained impassive. "Is that it?"

"No, no there's a lot more. You're a headstrong person, because you immediately go on the offensive and don't let up. You're smart, because you know how to throw a good punch, and you're strong, because you know how to throw a hard punch. You're graceful, because you can easily switch between punching and kicking without losing your center of balance. You're also fast, because your cyclic rate of punches was on par with a Spartan trainee- just so you know."

Claire smiled ruefully, then reached for her towel. "Well, if that's it-"

"But at the same time," David cut in. "You're also impatient."

"Really?"

"Really. You're impatient because you attack full force right off the bat without analyzing your opponent, hoping to just overwhelm him with speed and power. You've got a temper, because you quickly became frustrated when you couldn't get past my defenses." David shrugged, lips set but eyes gleaming with a hidden smile. "You have talent, but little control. I'd be curious to see how you'd fare in a fight of attrition."

Claire was hot, bothered, frustrated that she couldn't strike a blow against this smug Spartan, and now flushed. Not exactly the therapy she had been looking for. "A fight of what?"

"A fight to outlast your opponent. You have speed and flexibility, but how's your endurance?"

Claire snorted. "And you have endurance?"

David smiled fully, showing gleaming white teeth. "Yes I do."

He was goading her to fight, they both knew it. And Claire was only slight bothered that she took the bait so willingly. She threw down her towel and wiped the sweat off her chin. "Alright, let's do it. One on one, right here. No gloves, no pads, just martial arts. See who can outfight who." She glanced towards Katy and Schaefer, who were eyeing her as if she had gone crazy. "Is that alright with you two?"

Schaefer shrugged and looked away, as if saying _it's your funeral_. Katy's brow was furrowed; she appeared to be undergoing some kind of mental struggle. Finally one side won out, her face cleared, and she nodded. She nudged Schaefer in the ribs. "'To Be Loved'?"

Schaefer nodded. "'To Be Loved'". He made his way towards the weight room's sound system as David and Claire began stretching, keeping their eyes on each other.

David tried to ignore the fact that he was about to fight a much smaller, much more feminine ODST. When he won (not if he won, no question about that)there could be serious consequences. A room full of sweating, panting ODST's and crewmen might not take too kindly at having their fellow beaten by an obviously more skilled outsider…

David was distinctly remembering the infamous incident that happened over fifteen years ago: Spartan-117 versus four ODST's. That hadn't ended well; ODST's hated Spartan's almost on principle. And he was surrounded by Helljumper's…

_Too late to back out now. Goddamnit._

Claire was trying to ignore the fact that she was about to go hand to hand with a Spartan. Not just any seven foot tall, half kilo Spartan, but a Spartan who had gone hand to hand with a veteran Spec Ops Elite, and won.

_A Spartan who she had also brushed off after he tried to kiss her._

That queasy feeling, the knowledge that you had just willingly put one foot into your grave, took hold of Claire's gut. She forced the feeling down with some success.

The music over the speakers suddenly changed. Raw guitar rhythms collided with the interval drum beat, creating a vicious fast paced symphony. David liked it immediately. _Appropriate, _he thought. "You ready?"

Claire rolled her neck in its socket and nodded, eyes clear. "Let's go."

Both immediately dropped into combat stances and circled each other for a few seconds. The Spartan made no move to attack, simply studying her with cold brown eyes. In a flash, Claire decided to immediately go on offense, figuring he wouldn't expect an all out onslaught, and overwhelm him before he had a chance to counter.

With that decided she suddenly lunged forward with a feint, dodged right, and struck out with her left hook. David swatted it aside, eyes expressionless, and backed away, trying to put distance between them. She pressed forward, arms blurring as she tried right hook, left hook, uppercut, stomach blow, then elbow jab. None of them landed as David blocked, dodged, and finally countered the last, grabbing her left arm and swinging her effortlessly onto the ropes behind him.

Claire stayed where she landed, catching her breath. In front of her David smiled as he shuffled his feet. "Given up yet?"

Claire matched the smile with her own, rose up, and shook her head. "Hell no."

Change of plans. Claire launched herself forward with what appeared to be reckless abandon. For three seconds she rained down blows against the Spartan's defenses before he countered a wild haymaker and got her into an arm lock-

-at which she promptly heel kicked his shin. As he gasped and took a step back in pain, she squirmed out of his grip, and as he looked up, landed a left hook on his cheek that caused him to stumble onto the ropes.

By now a small crowd had gathered around the ring, and a cheer went up as David grasped the ropes (most of the cheers, he noticed, came from ODSTs).

Claire nodded satisfactorily. The music continued, pounding higher and higher.

Finally David drew himself up from the ropes and turned back towards Claire. He used his thumb to wipe away some of the blood that was seeping from the corner of his lip, eyed it disinterestedly, and wiped it on his shirt. He looked up, brown eyes amused. "Alright, shirt off."

Claire was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

David used the corner of his own shirt to wipe away the rest of the blood. "You heard me. Take your shirt off."

An audible "ooh-ooh-ooh" went through the crowd. The male onlookers seemed particularly interested.

"Why?" She said incredulously.

David smiled. "Because I'd hate to get blood on both of our shirts."

And with that he stripped off his own T-Shirt, folded it carefully, and laid it on the ropes behind him. The female members of the crowd let out an audible gasp. He took no notice as he stretched his arms behind his back and lowered himself into a combat stance, eyeing Claire.

Claire stared for a moment too long. David's chest and arms were pale, but not as much as she'd thought they'd be. His musculature, however, that was what warranted the stare. His biceps had a proper bulge to them, his triceps had a hard line of muscle, his pectorals looked as hard as armor plates, he even had a 'six pack'. Combined with his dark hair and his dark brown eyes, he really did look hot…

That was when David took two steps' forward and launched a blow directly at her stomach. Claire woke up just in time to block the blow, barely so, and suddenly was on the defensive, trying to dodge and block the white fists. _Shit! _One got past her block and landed on her side. Her ribs felt like they cracked. The crowd booed as she stumbled back. Someone shouted. "Grow some backbone, Spartan! She's half your size!"

David waved away the comment. "Lady's choice," he retorted. "I'm just a punching bag that punches back." With that said, he stepped forward for another blow.

_Crunch time. _In the blink of an eye, Claire was off the ropes and dodged the punch. David wheeled for another strike, but Claire had stripped off her T-shirt, leaving her in her black sports bra. She caught his fist with her T-shirt and aimed a kick directly at his crotch. He stepped to the side, saving his manhood, and grabbed her bare leg with his free arm and slammed her to the floor. The wind was knocked out of her as she landed.

David stood back up, shaking the T-shirt off his fist. Claire rolled to her knee's and wheeled for a spinning kick that hit his ankle solidly and bounced off. He looked down, bemused, about to make a smug comment, when he had to suddenly go on the defensive when she got back up for a haymaker to the stomach region.

The two broke away from each other and moved to opposite ends of the ring, panting. David eyed Claire. Her face was drenched in sweat; her black hair had come down in disarray around her face. His eyes moved down from her face to her body, from her slim figure, with just the right feminine curve and a hint of muscle tone, to her trim belly. She caught him staring and he felt himself get warm in the face.

"See anything you like, David?"

_Bait_, he thought. He smiled in return. "Just an overconfident opponent, that's all."

She smiled in return. "I could say the same thing."

After that there were no more words. Back and forth they danced across the ring, punching, kicking, blocking, alternating offensive and defensive, one playing cat, the other mouse, then trading roles as they traded blows and bruised themselves black and blue.

David may have had endurance, and strength, but Claire was a small target, fast and furious as she would pummel him with blows and scamper away, forcing him to follow her. In a moment of lucidity he reflected on the parallels between this fight and a tango between two dancers, and smiled inwardly as he realized she was the leader in this one. Claire saw the smile, mistook it for smugness, and tried to discombobulate him. David blocked the left hand, missed the right, and was rewarded with a bruised ear. He returned the favor in the form of an elbow jab that connected with the side of her head, and a successful wheeling kick that knocked her to the floor. She rolled away as he tried to land the finishing blow. She was on her feet in a flash, eyes blazing and chest heaving. David paused, glanced at her chest, and suddenly realized that beneath her sports bra, her nipples were hard and erect.

_That means one of two things: she's either cold, or sexually aroused._

_ Which one do you want it to mean, Davy Boy?_

"URRRRAAGGHHHH!" Claire drew her upper body back and launched a heel kick that hit David squarely in the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled backwards, coughing, and caught himself on the ropes.

Claire took a step forward and launched herself into the air, drawing back her right fist to deliver a _coup de grace _on David's right cheek. The Spartan felt time slow as he watched her fly towards him. His thoughts raced.

_This is going to end badly._

_ First option: take the right hook, probably fracture my jaw, maybe knock me out, depends on how tired she is and how much energy is in the punch._

_ Second option: rise six inches off ropes, arrest right hook with right claw jab, left hand, go for throat, but gently, she's breathing hard. Use her forward momentum; turn one-eighty degree's to pin her on ropes. Summary: flying fist arrested, coup de grace failed, but opponent remains conscious and relatively unhurt._

_ Ah, fuck it._

David rose from the ropes just in time to catch Claire's right fist in his own massive claw. His left hand lashed out, grabbing her neck, and he allowed her forward momentum to propel her- still in his grip- onto the ropes, where she squirmed and grunted, trying to break free. David let go of her throat and pinned her left arm while his left foot deftly maneuvered the lower ropes to trap her legs, essentially paralyzing her.

Attack neutralized.

The cheering crowd, almost in a frenzy as Claire jumped in the air, was now deathly silent. Neither of the combatants in the ring noticed. David's face was inches from Claire's, and she could count the sweat droplets lining his forehead. His eyes were no long glaring, but wide and bright, trying to absorb everything they saw before them. Although he gripped her arms tightly, his touch was soft against her hot skin. His breath was warm against cheek. Claire could feel a warmth spread through her body.

David leaned slightly closer, lips trembling. Deep down in his mind, where years of training and conditioning had failed to manifest, he felt an animal instinct call for him to kiss her. Then quite suddenly he was conscious of the dozens of eyes on him and the ODST sergeant, and he broke off. "Pinned ya," he whispered.

"Yeah." Claire whispered back. Her voice was husky. David helped her up and looked around. The crowd of soldiers was blatantly staring, not with hate or fear, but with frank curiosity.

"Right," He said, his voice strangely loud in the silence. "That's it." He eased himself out of the ring, helped Claire out, and then shook her hand, grabbed his T-shirt, and walked out, dabbing at the cut on his mouth as he went.

Claire was left standing in the crowd who promptly turned their attention to her as the Spartan left. The warmth she had felt had not quite faded yet.

Suddenly Katy and Schaefer began clapping, and everyone else quickly followed suit. The two ODSTs dragged Claire into the center of the ring, raising her arms in celebration as the crowd cheered.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we present to you: Sergeant Claire Avalos, the only ODST to go hand-to-hand with a Spartan, and live to tell about it!" Schaefer roared.

No one seemed to care about the comment; they were just interested in cheering.

Claire managed to plaster a smile onto lips that would not smile unaided. Her body settled into numbness as the warmth left her, and while she heard the cheers, her mind kept repeating the words

_Pinned ya._

Those words had never sounded so provocative (_sexy_) in her ears as when the Spartan had uttered them.

Nobody noticed, in the corridor above the weight room, the tall, bearded blonde man standing in the crowd. ONI Lieutenant Matt Keller had watched the fight with great interest. He had kept his eye particularly on Claire.

After the fight ended, he had sauntered out of the crowd, in the general direction of the bridge. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were dancing with a curious light, as if he was playing a joke on the entire universe.

Beside him, Volkov's ghost fell in line. He looked even worse for wear; his body must have found an asteroid field somewhere, because massive, ugly gashes and bruises lined his arms and face.

_So, it appears your girlfriend- ahem, former girlfriend- has found new spark in David._

_**Yep.**_

__Keller's smile grew wider.

_**Oh, life has just gotten so much more interesting now. **_

**[08 April 2548]**

**[Tactical Command Center, **_**UNSC Wolfs Sun**_**]**

**[0930 Hours]**

The order had come over the comm. a half hour ago.

**Attention! Will Sergeant Avalos, Corporal Atwood, and PFC's Schaefer and Rawlings report to the Tactical Command Center immediately? Thank you.**

Claire didn't have much time to ponder on the nature of this order, or why somebody would want her squad to be in the TCC. As soon as the four had met and entered the TCC, they discovered they were not alone.

At least a dozen individuals of various ethnicities and affiliations were already inside the Center when they made their arrival. Claire's practiced eye recognized uniforms from Army LIDAR, Air Force CRC, even a few other ODST's. She nodded tersely to a few people she knew by sight. Schaefer and Atwood began chatting with a few people they knew, while Katy walked over to the table in the center of the room and began looking over a pile of papers.

"Hey." The voice originated from behind her. Claire wheeled around, coming face to face with a lean, wiry man who was barely an inch above her. His lack of height was made even more obvious by his neatly shaved crown. His face had the strange scar tissue that only came from burn grafts, partially masked by a thick handlebar moustache. He offered a small smile. "It's been a long time, Avalos."

Claire returned the smile and grasped the mans hand. "Good to see you, Sax." The appendage was a cybernetic replacement for the one Sax had lost two years ago, when a volatile bomb he had been arming had gone off, costing him his hand, his hair, and almost his life.

That little incident hadn't deterred Sax in the least.

"How have you been, Sax?" Claire had worked with the demolitions Sergeant once before, and knew him to be a competent soldier, cool under fire.

"Ah, about the same." Rand rubbed his face thoughtfully. "I've been happier though. My damn scars hurt something fierce at night, so doctors prescribed me painkiller's. They mellow me out quite nicely."

"Huh, I'll bet." Claire stretched, then winced as she felt the bruise on her ribs tighten. After yesterday's bout in the ring with David, she had woken up with her sides black and blue and an ugly bump on the side of her head. Rand noticed her discomfort, and nodded wisely. "Hurting from your little one on one with the Spartan yesterday?"

"How'd you know?" she muttered, tentatively poking her side.

"Stuff like that is gossip. Good gossip spreads like bad syphilis. If you don't mind my asking, what were you thinking?"

_I was thinking that I was pissed off and wanted to wipe that smile off his face, and almost ended up getting sweet nothings whispered in my ear. _"I guess I wasn't." She said aloud.

"I'll say."

Claire stiffened. "By the way, Rand, why are you here? And for that matter, why is me and my squad here?"

"You answer that and you get a million dollars." A husky yet feminine voice responded. Rand and Claire wheeled to face a young woman, dressed in Air Force fatigues. Her hair was close cropped on both sides, giving her a tomboyish look that contrasted sharply with her wide brown-gold eyes, snub nose, and full lips. She smiled radiantly, displaying small, white teeth. "Airman Hannah Dietrich, Air Force CRC. Are you Sergeant Avalos, 105th ODST Division?"

"Yes, I am." Claire briefly shook Dietrich's hand and looked around. "So you really have no idea why we're all here."

"We have some idea's, just nothing definite." Dietrich deftly fit a toothpick in her mouth and began to expand on the subject. "Most common theory is that HIGHCOM is putting together a special task force, and they selected us for the line up."

"That doesn't explain my squad, though."

Dietrich shrugged. "If you're here, then you probably impressed the right person in the spec-ops sector."

The door slid open with an electronic hiss, and two men entered: David, and a second man who was nearly as tall as him. Claire noted, with faint satisfaction, that a visible cut was healing on the left side of his mouth. _Look's like I did get in a good punch._

David nodded to the soldiers in the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, glad you could all make it." He clasped his hands together and made his way towards the front of the room, the shadowy figure tailing close behind.

"I'm Chief Petty Officer Spartan-009, field commander for the Asymmetric Warfare division, ONI Section-III." There was a murmur as ONI was mentioned. "You can call me 'Chief' or 'Petty', it doesn't really matter to me. You all probably have an idea of why you're here, so I'm just going to cut to the chase: a special task force is being put together, and you were the lucky few who were selected for the team. Everyone here is trained and experienced in a particular field of warfare, so all of you have something to contribute. Demolitions, field medicine, survival and resistance, the list goes on. Ere go, you are all here for a reason."

"Now I want to make something clear right now: this is an all volunteer unit. Just because we called you doesn't mean you all have to answer. That being said, serving under a Spartan on a joint ops unit can pay off huge dividends in the long run of your career, from quicker promotions to your choice of assignments. So, if taking on high risk, high reward missions against entrenched Covenant isn't your particular brand of poison, feel free to visit the mess hall, have your fill of half-edible chow, and we'll see you on your way. If not, then please, take a seat."

Every soldier took a seat. Dietrich nudged Claire and whispered, "See? Told ya."

"True that." She whispered back. David briefly looked up, caught her eye, and offered an almost unnoticeable smile. _Click! _it was there, then gone just as fast. Claire smiled back, then examined the papers in front of her. Among them was a document entitled "Intelligence Secrets Compliance".

David began speaking, his voice dry and casual. "The first order of business, then, is what our call-sign is. TORN VICTOR, T-V. Learn it, because that's the name of the people who will be fighting by your side. Second order of business is what being on this team entails."

"Captain Rousseau assembled this fleet operating on intelligence that a Covenant assault force is skulking around this system. As most of you already know, the Hydra system has twelve colonies, not counting the one we currently orbit, and if the encounter here is any indication to how big our target is, any and all of them could be at risk of invasion and bombardment."

"This, obviously, is where the fleet comes in. Rousseau is hoping that when we find this Covenant fleet, combat will be restricted to ship-to-ship brawls." David looked up. "Personally, I don't share the Captain's optimism, but he's prepared if things go south. That, is where we come in."

"Depending on the situation at hand, we'll be doing anything from advanced reconnaissance, direct action, hostile ship boarding's, hostage liberation, tactical retrieval. Basically any ground operation conducted under this fleet will start with us softening up the enemy any way we can. And on that note, I'd like all of you to look at the paper titled 'Intelligence Secrets Compliance'."

There was a rustle of paper as everyone shifted.

"It's basically a binding seal on all of your lips. If we come across any vital intelligence on our excursions, by signing this document, you are prohibited from speaking of said Intel outside of this unit. If you do, we will find out, and we will find you."

There was a smatter of nervous giggles that was quickly stamped out. David raised an eyebrow, then continued.

"Alright, counting me and my esteemed colleague on my right," He jerked his thumb over his right shoulder towards the shadowy figure, "TORN VICTOR is composed of eighteen operators. We'll be split into two teams, Victor-Alpha and Victor-Omega. Sergeant Douglas Rand!"

On Claire's left, Rand roused himself from his doze. "Yes sir!"

"I've personally reviewed your record, and in my opinion, there is no one more qualified to lead Omega. Eight lives are now under your command. Respect that."

Rand grinned sheepishly. "Yes sir. Extremely honored sir." He turned beet red as a small burst of enthusiastic applause erupted from the other soldiers.

"Good. Now I'll lead Alpha. Team composition is listed on the second paper in each packet. I suggest you learn the names of your teammates, ladies and gentlemen. We have only a vague idea of how long this operation will take, anywhere from two weeks to three months. Ah, another thing: this is a diverse unit. If any of you have any bias against anyone else here, get rid of it. I don't care if you think your military branch is better than the guy next to you, I don't care if you're a racist. We don't have time for petty shit like that." He faced the line of soldiers. "Have I made myself clear, TORN VICTOR?"

"Sir, yes sir!" came the unanimous response.

"Excellent. One final thing." He motioned for the man behind him. "This scary bastard behind me is…"

"Yes, yes, yes," the shadowy figure interrupted. Claire inhaled sharply.

She knew that voice, could place it anywhere. That voice instantly brought her back to Claire Avalos, high school student in central New York.

The voice continued. "Ah, I don't deserve an introduction. No one wants to hear about another ONI assassin, David." The man stepped into the circle of light haloing the table, and Claire covered her mouth.

It was Matt Keller, _her _Matt Keller.

Later on, she reflected that what shocked her most was not that he was in ONI- she always had a sneaking suspicion that's where he slunk off to after leaving the 105th- but how he looked. Before, he had been tall, lean, muscular, sun burnt, with close cropped blonde hair and laughing blue eyes.

The Keller that stood at the head of the table resembled nothing of what she remembered. The hair was still close cropped, but was now complemented with a thick beard that covered the lower half of his face. He looked leaner than before, and even taller, making him look both comical and somehow menacing. His skin was pale, washed out. His face was lined, his eyes were sunken, and he looked very much like a man in his forties. And his eyes- they were no longer laughing. His eyes were flat, dead, expressionless as he looked her full in the face.

Matt licked the side of his mouth, like a lizard would lick his eyeball, and continued speaking. "That is, of course, what I am. Lieutenant Matthew Keller, former ODST, ONI team leader, and now freelance operative wrangler." He spread his hands on the table and leaned forward, his face looking like a skull under the harsh white light. "And now I can add on-site specialist to my resume."

David sighed. Claire, turning her attention to the Spartan, realized with a start that he knew Keller.

"Lieutenant Keller is my colleague at ONI. Previously he served as a non-commissioned officer in the 105th ODST Division. He was originally an operational detachment leader in ONI Division-I, but he and his team were captured and held as POW's for nearly six months. This experience gave him plenty of insight into Covenant tactics and language. He'll serve as a tactical advisor and interrogator in the off chance we get any prisoners."

Keller visibly rolled his eyes and smacked his lips. David turned. "You disapprove, Lieutenant?"

"No-oh, not in the least. I'm just tickled that you think we'll actually get any prisoners."

"Hmm, right." David rubbed his face and chin, then shrugged. "That covers the gist of why we're here. Everyone here has been assigned quarters on the _Wolfs Sun_, which you'll find on the back of the last page of each packet. If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, feel free to take it up with me, Sergeant Rand, or Lieutenant Keller." David looked up, smiled. "Off the record, I'm glad no one decided to head for the door. Just out of curiosity, how many of you here have seen a planet get glassed before?"

Everyone in the room raised their hands, Claire, Katy, Schaefer, and Atwood included.

"That's what I thought." The smile faded. "What this task force is, what it represents, is the deterrent that will stop the Covenant from glassing another planet. We are that deterrent, so the next time these psychotic aliens try to invade, we'll be there to tear them apart before they know what hits them. Captain Rousseau has authorized all types of support for us: small arms, transport, air strikes, infantry reinforcement, vehicle drops- but all of that means nothing if we don't have the drive to get the job done. All of that means nothing if us soldiers lack the heart to do what is necessary. Remember that." David looked around. He had full command of the room. "Any questions?" No one answered. "Alright then, dismissed."

As the soldiers began to get up and disperse, Claire managed to catch Katy's eye. Her look was just as shocked as Claire felt. "Claire…" she whispered helplessly.

Claire ignored her. She began making a beeline towards Matt, standing in a corner discussing something with David. She squirmed past a stocky female ODST, pushed through two Army LIDAR snipers, and reached the two in the corner. Matt had his back to her. David looked up, surprised. "Claire…?"

Before Claire could react, Matt wheeled, and the ugly gash under his nose split into an even uglier grin. "Claire baby, come here." And with that he dragged her close and planted a sloppy kiss straight on her lips. Behind them, Katy squeaked, Dietrich dropped her toothpick, and Rand muttered something intelligible.

Claire couldn't breathe. Matt's hot, wet mouth completely covered her own; she could taste the peppermint from the gum he had habitually chewed since high school. With it came back a flood of memories: classes, sports, dances, laughter, peace, not a care in the world- memories Claire thought she had firmly scrubbed from her memory.

Briefly she caught David's eye. The Spartan's jaw was clenched, his eyes were hard, and his lips were set in a garish frown. Confusion made his face look both beautiful and tragic.

At least Matt released her. She gasped angrily, drawing in fresh air and wiping her mouth. The bastards grin grew wider. "So glad to see that you missed me, sweetheart."

"Lieutenant Keller-" David ground out between clenched teeth.

"Don't bother yourself David, this isn't what it looks like. Claire and I are old friends- no, wait, I'm lying- _more _than friends, you see. She and I go a long way back. We were very…_intimate_, before I joined ONI."

They had never been _intimate_, at least, not in the way he was implying, but Claire found herself silent in her rage. There were so many things pissing her off at this one moment she couldn't find the words to single out any one.

David's look could have cut stones. "You realized you just broke the codes on fraternization. By right I need to report you, and Sergeant Avalos," he added brutally. Claire, instead of being cowed, found herself even angrier at the comment.

Matt shook his head condescendingly. "David, you wouldn't do that. It's not your style. Besides, since when do you care if I tongue an ODST grunt in front of you?"

That did it. Claire grabbed Matt's arm in a death grip, whispered in his ear, "Can I talk to you in _private_?" Her voice was icy.

He beamed. "By all means." He turned towards David. "Excuse me a second, David. Have to have a chat with my significant other."

David said nothing as they walked into the opposite corner of the room, but Claire could feel his eyes beam lasers at their backs. Once they were relatively hidden in the shadows of the far corner of the room, she took the opportunity to backhand Matt across the face. "You miserable _son of a bitch_!" she seethed.

Matt looked disinterested as he rubbed his cheek. "Ouch. See, it's a rookie mistake to immediately for the face. You want the person to _feel_ it when you beat them, and slapping the face just disorients them, so that when you do start to put the screws in them, they actually…"

He was rudely interrupted by another backhand, this time across the opposite cheek. "Hmm, I can tell you won't listen to reason then."

"You walk back into my life like nothing's changed, after I don't see you for two years, and you decide you can kiss me like a love sick high school chump in front of _my_ team and _my _new commanding officer? What THE HELL is wrong with you?"

"Eh, besides five months as a Covenant POW, being tortured and watching my entire team die right in front of me and being forced to euthanize my right hand man? Nothing."

Claire couldn't ignore that. Her anger took a backseat for a moment. "You were…tortured?"

Matt ignored her. He turned his head to the right and Claire got a good look at his right cheek. Under the beard, it was horribly disfigured, ugly welts peaking through the hair. "You see this? You want to now how I got it? Two Elites- Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum- are wondering how they caught my ONI team. They're wondering if there are other teams in the area. They keep asking me if I know if there are any more teams in the area. And no matter how much I tell them, "I DON'T KNOW", they still ask me, until Tweedle Dum finally snaps. So he dips his gauntlet in this weird chemical, and slaps me across the face with it. Incidentally, that was where I lost my first teeth too. You wanna see those?"

Claire was suddenly afraid. This creature, this…_thing_, wasn't Matt. Not the Matt she remembered. "I'm sorry." She mumbled.

"You wouldn't be sorry if I hadn't shown up here today. And that is the funny part of it all!" He cackled to himself.

"Christ, Matt, I didn't know! You ran off to ONI the second I showed up and things got complicated…"

"I didn't plan on running to ONI. Don't you know me Claire? Don't you know that I never have a plan? Do you think I planned on this?" He turned his head to the left, and Claire could barely make out a series of shiny white scars, barely visible against his beard, stand out on his cheek. "This all came from a master plan that got fucked up beyond all repair- just like any plan you have now will fall apart around you."

"Oh, God, not this 'no plan' bullshit again. Matt, if you're seriously still hiked up on that…"

"You're not listening." He was suddenly in her face. His eyes bulged out from sunken cheeks. He looked like a skull in this light. Claire shivered.

"You planned to find me and be with me in the Corps. That went straight down the tube, didn't it? You planned to hunt me down, didn't you? Well, you're still here. You plan on being in this unit, with _your_ Spartan, and that will break down all the same…"

"He's not _my _Spartan…" she seethed.

"Then what about that bout in the ring yesterday? I saw you when he pinned you. You want him, Claire. You might be able to hide it from somebody else, but you can't hide it from me." He tapped the side of his head. "I know you too well for that."

Claire felt her shoulders sag. It was true, he did know her enough for that. Bitterly, she muttered, "ONI really changed you, didn't it, Matt?"

"Not really. Being a POW changed me. But ONI…ONI opened my eyes to the truth."

"What truth?" Claire spat.

"The hard truth, Claire," Matt murmured, taking a vice grip on her arm and shaking her. "The truth is that we're not holier than the Covenant."

"You're insane. When have you heard of Covenant POW's? When have you heard of torture…?"

"…When have you heard of human POW's in Covenant hands? When have you heard of torture? Hmm. Please, tell me so you can prove me wrong. So you can go back inside your conscious and tell yourself, its wrong, he's crazy, we humans are may be almost extinct, but at least we're more gentle than the aliens." He shook his head condescendingly. "I'm proof of it in itself. If something exists on one side of the spectrum, it has to have a counterpart on the other side of the spectrum. If I was tortured, then there's a Covenant POW being tortured for info by ONI right now."

Claire shook her head vehemently. "You're wrong."

He eyed her, a bit sadly. "You always were naïve. Do you even know what your precious Spartan-009 was doing on Agricola?"

The anger bubbled up like a tide of magma "He was hunting down some scumbag Elite who murdered innocent people, blew up human ships, and executed UNSC soldiers…"

"…And did David tell you that that is his exact job at ONI?" He seemed unperturbed by her furious expression. "What, don't believe me? Ask him yourself sometime. He wants you, just like you want him. He wouldn't have the sand to lie to your face, wouldn't want to see your pretty face crumple as you realize that he was just like the Elite he was hunting, that he was just like me: a monster."

Claire eyed him coldly. "You're wrong," she repeated.

He didn't seem to take notice. "Your life is so neatly regimented by your plan, by your preconceptions. All your rules and idea's keep you safe from anything too close to the truth."

"I have only one rule now, Matt: don't get involved with someone who's going to hurt me." She could feel tears prick her eyes.

Matt nodded sagely. "Then that will be the rule you'll have to break, to figure out what the hell is going on."

She looked at him, her former best friend, and said coldly, "I don't know who you are anymore."

"Oh, you probably never did. Now that's over with and done, what else is there?"

She slapped him, full in the face, dragging her hand to prolong the blow. In the quiet semi-darkness it sounded as loud as a gunshot.

She walked away without another word, eyes burning. She felt Katy wrap her arms around her in a loving gesture, heard Schaefer mutter something darkly, and felt anger radiate from David. Wiping her eyes, she looked up, only to see that David was glaring at Matt, who was rubbing his cheek as if nothing had happened.

"Excuse me. I'm going to go have a talk with Keller."

Claire grabbed his forearm as he passed. "No, David…Chief, don't. Please don't."

"Don't? He harassed you and obviously upset you. I don't care if he was your boyfriend or my colleague, I'm not letting him walk away while you…"

"_David,"_ she whispered. He turned to face her fully.

"Don't give him the satisfaction. Please, just…let's get back to work."

He didn't like it, she could tell by the look in his eyes, even if the rest of his face was controlled. But she could also sense that he wouldn't argue with her.

"Fine. As long as you're alright…"

"I am. Thank you."

He looked down. "You still have my arm."

"Sorry." She released his arm, her face coloring. _Glad its dark._

Suddenly claxons began ringing. Everyone looked up in alarm.

"General quarters?" David yelled above the din.

"No!" Rand shouted back. "This sounds different."

The comm. blared to life, and Captain Rousseau's voice echoed over the din. "All personnel, we are on Combat Alert Alpha. Enemy ships have been spotted at Macedon. We are en route to intercept and eliminate. All personnel to their stations immediately! Task Force TORN VICTOR, report to the armory, double time!"

Keller smiled. "Ah, they're playing our song."

Claire grit her teeth.

_This day cannot be this bad, this early._


	7. Chapter 5: Green Grass and Red Tides

Chapter 5: Green Grass and Red Tides

**[08 April 2548]**

**[Armory, UNSC **_**Wolfs Sun**_**]**

**[0945 Hours]**

The eighteen soldiers that formed TORN VICTOR had made their quickly to the _Wolfs Sun_'s armory. A colony was under attack; that meant they were about to earn their pay.

Once inside the armory, every soldier had to take a moment to adjust. The entire room, about half the size of the mess hall, was filled to bursting with weapons, ammunition, armor, and combat gear.

Lining one wall were racks of generic MA-series Assault Rifles, Misriah M6 sidearm's, SRS99 Sniper Rifles, and M247 GPMG's, with crates of ammunition corresponding to each weapon.

The far wall, however, was adorned with more exotic weapons: M6 SOCOM Automag's, whisper silent with armor piercing rounds, scoped and suppressed M7 SMG's, skeletal MA5K carbines, multi-shot XM511 grenade launchers, and a portable AIE-486 chain gun. Over this assortment was adorned, in gold Italicized script, the line: _The People's Right to bear arms shall not be infringed._

To every soldier in TORN VICTOR, it was better than Christmas.

Schaefer whistled appreciatively as he examined the XM511 MGL had picked up. "So this is what the Army has been holding out on us, eh Rand?"

The Army LIDAR 'Scanner' shrugged as he attached a 40mm grenade launcher to his MA5K. "Not really. The reason that this particular model hasn't reached Helljumper hands yet is because its still experimental. If you don't treat it right, damn thing will blow up in your face."

Schaefer's hands faltered a bit. "Well, then I guess I should treat it right, huh?"

Rand grinned. "Yep, well, at least you don't have to worry about your body armor moving without you." He jerked his thumb over to where the David, in rapid succession, had already outfitted himself in his terrifying black armor. Two specialist technicians were busy running last minute diagnostics on the suit. The whole operation looked like the launching of a Longsword fighter.

Claire was curious. "What do you know about those Spartan armor suits, Rand?"

"A lot of bull with a little fact mixed in. The suits are specially built for the Spartans. They're fully sealed, with heavy armor plating- ceramic titanium, maybe, I'm not sure- and they have everything to make Spartans, Spartans. They got exoskeleton properties to enhance the user's strength, and first aid dispensers to heal wounds." Rand squinted at David, then shrugged. "However, our commanding officer's suit seems a little different than others."

"Yeah, we know. He's packing an AI in that tin can." Atwood said off-handedly, dusting off his Sniper Rifle.

"Wow. ONI certainly isn't stingy with its cash, is it?" Rand frowned as he saw Atwood's rifle, then reached behind him and dragged out a bull pup rifle with a scope. "Here Corporal, try this on for size."

Atwood caught the rifle and looked at it disdainfully. "What's this?"

"Army issue M392 Designated Marksman Rifle. 7.62mm with a fifteen round magazine and a 2x scope built in. Excellent choice for urban sniping."

The ODST eyed the Scanner with an incredulous look. "Do you realize what I can do with this rifle?" he raged, brandishing his SRS99.

"Quite frankly, I don't want to know. What I do know, however, is that you're on the Chief's squad, and no doubt he would want accurate, consistent marksman support while you're covering his ass."

Claire looked up. "Atwood's on David's squad?"

"Not just Atwood, you and your entire squad, Avalos." Rand gave her a strange look. "And since when do you call a ranking non-com by their first name?"

Katy smiled as she slapped a clip into a Pistols feed and aimed down the scope. "Since they became friends."

Now the look Rand was giving her was really strange. "Friends? With a Spartan? Jesus, girl, you are certainly full of surprises, now aren't you?"

Claire sighed disgustedly. "Look, what exactly is wrong with that? So I made friends with a Spartan? What's the big deal?"

"I can name about a dozen or so ODST's I know personally who could write books about how wrong that is. Are you not forgetting the _Atlas_ incident, or has not one of your ranking officers told you?"

No, Claire had been told the story by at least six different ODST's of varying ranks and experience. According to the story, one Spartan, fresh from the augmentation process that had enhanced his physical abilities, tampered with the weights in the weight room. Four ODST's confronted him; in the ensuing brawl, three of the Helljumper's were killed and the fourth was practically crippled. That had pretty much sealed the relationship between Spartans and ODSTs from that time on.

"No, I heard about that alright. But let me ask you this: was David the one who killed those ODSTs? Or were any of us there? My god, that thing was what, almost twenty years ago, and people are still pissing about it?"

Rand looked at her gravely. "No, you're right, none us were there. But that Spartan killed three men, Claire, three _soldiers_. Now I personally don't have anything against the Chief over there and his kind, but the fact is that they were trained from childhood to be killers of utmost efficiency. That's not something to approach lightly."

Privately Claire snuck a glance at David. The technicians had left and he was busying himself, loading pistol rounds in an M6 SOCOM clip. His brown eyes were focused entirely on the magazine as his fingers deftly maneuvered the 12.7mm shells. He oozed competence and calculation.

"Maybe. But I'm not going to treat him differently just because of who he is."

Rand smiled. "You say that now, but chances are you're probably treating him differently already. Tell me this: how did he react when you first called him by his first name?"

Claire merely stared at him. Rand took this as the answer he was looking for and laughed softly. "I worked with a Spartan too, once. They are geniuses on the battlefield but have all the social graces of a stubborn kindergartener." He shrugged. "I'm not trying to piss on your 'friendship', I'm just trying to give you a sense of what you're getting into, that's all."

Claire barely listened. That familiar red haze was starting to cloud her vision, and she found that Rand's voice was an annoying insect buzz in her ear. "Thanks for the advice. You done? Because I need a weapon."

She walked towards the small booth where the quartermaster was passing out gear and weapons. The quartermaster, a mild, pale looking creature, eyed her with washed out blue-eyes. "What do you need, Sergeant?"

"A rifle and a sidearm, for starters."

"Any particulars?"

"MA5B assault rifle. The pistol doesn't really matter."

The quartermaster passed her the bulky assault rifle, hesitated for a moment, then passed her a handgun she recognized as an Automag. "I have a feeling you'll make good use of this where you're going, Sergeant. Good luck out there."

"Thanks." Claire took a moment to examine the pistol she had been given. The grip and trigger pull felt familiar, but the barrel, lengthened to accommodate a built-in suppressor, unbalanced the entire weight. It felt strange and bulky.

She felt a presence close in behind her, and a familiar voice at her back said, "You know how to use that thing?"

David stood behind her, his own Automag holstered at his side. She shrugged. "It feels a little barrel heavy, but its not exactly a Covenant plasma repeater. Zoom scope, aim for the chest, and empty the magazine until the Foxtrot falls down dead."

David shook his head seriously. "No, see that's all wrong." He gently took the pistol from her hands, removed a clip from his belt, and expertly loaded and charged the pistol. "You want to requisition extended clips to negate the heavy barrel and keep the balance. The big difference between the Automag and other models is the suppressor; increases relative accuracy and rate of fire but stopping power is weakened. The scope is two power, so you can use it to reach out and touch someone. Don't aim for the body, you'll just make anything you shoot mad. Zoom the scope, aim for the crown of the head. It's good for stealthy kills and infiltrations, but don't expect it to drop a charging Elite in its tracks." He paused to glance at Claire. "Did you follow all that?"

Claire took back her sidearm, carefully, and smiled. "Yeah, pretty much."

David sensed something, and his brow furrowed. "Did I…say too much?"

"No, not really. I've just never seen anybody cradle an M6 like they would cradle a baby."

David looked sheepish. "Some kids…grew up with teddy bears, I guess. I grew up with an Automag. Go figure."

Claire nodded. "It's okay. I think in the long run, an Automag is more comforting than a teddy bear."

David smiled fully. "My thoughts exactly." His eyes didn't leave hers.

The moment could have quickly turned awkward had not the quartermaster intervened. "Excuse me, Chief? I have a special package for you." He began lugging a bulky and oblong crate out from under a pile of boxes. "Just came in from the _Aztec_ yesterday, addressed directly to you."

David accepted the crate, and flipped open the catches right there on the counter. He removed a note first, read it briefly, then examined the crates contents with an even bigger smile on his face than before. "I love you too, Bristow."

"What is it?"

David glanced at her, then passed her the note. She took it and read:

_A weapon that will never let you down, for a person who will never yield. Happy early birthday, David!_

_ -B_

She read it again, then placed the note on the counter. "'A weapon that will never let you down'? What is it…?"

But she needn't have asked. From the depths of the crate David had removed a bulky and complex looking launcher. It was dark gray, with no visible moving parts and no ejection port. "What the hell is that?"

"Grindell Non-Linear Rifle, Anti-Vehicular; also known as the Spartan Laser." The look on David's face was akin to a kid who just got his first bike.

"Is that seriously a laser?"

"It is. He tapped the underside. "No chemical's in here, just one battery charge." He fingered a dial on the side of the weapon next to the trigger guard. "This button adjusts the strength of each shot. Minimum shot strength uses five percent of the battery."

Claire was fascinated with the exotic looking weapon. "So how much damage would that put out?"

"About enough to eliminate a Jackal Sniper, or disable a Ghost." He flipped the dial. "Maximum shot strength uses twenty percent of the battery."

"Four times the juice, so, four times the shot strength?"

"Give or take, yes. That would be enough to cut through nine Warthogs, lined bumper to bumper."

Claire shivered. "Nine? What the fuck, did you test this thing using Warthogs as target practice?"

David grinned. "Yep."

"So what about Covenant?"

"It would be enough to destroy a Covenant artillery tank with one shot, decimate a whole column of Grunts and Jackals, kill a Hunter or an Elite field commander, or shoot down a Bandit gunship, provided you hit the engine."

Claire shook her head. "And I'm guessing you have?"

"Yes, I have." David strapped the massive Spartan Laser to his back, magnetic plates clicking. He removed a smaller component from the crate. "This is the recharging module. Too cumbersome to take out into the field, so I have to make do with one charge."

"Wait…its your birthday?"

"No." David shook his head. "It's just Bristow's little joke. Personally, I'm grateful for it."

Claire's face suddenly darkened as a thought occurred to her. "You think we'll actually need firepower like that?"

David caught her meaning; his expression turned grave. "Yeah, we just might." He turned his head to the side, cleared his throat. "Get your squad ready. You're under my command on this one."

"I know." She tried to bring the smile back to his face. "C'mon, don't look so worried. I doubt you can get two squads killed in one week!"

The joke fell flat on its face. "Yeah," was all David said. Claire turned away, troubled again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed another figure detach himself from the line of soldiers and move towards her. Matt Keller had switched out his officer's uniform for a body suit that was similar to the suits David's original squad had used, back on Agricola. Claire noted he had an older, custom looking M6 pistol strapped to his chest and a suppressed SMG strapped to his side. He grinned as he approached her.

Just as Claire was about to turn and face him, a large bulk blocked her view. David had stepped in between them. "Do you need something, Lieutenant?" he growled.

Matt ignored him as he peaked around his waist to smirk at Claire. "Oo-ooh, so my instincts were right!" He glanced up at the Spartan blocking him. "So, you are sweet on her, aren't you?"

David laid a gloved hand the size of a catcher's mitt on the ONI Lieutenant's shoulder. "I'm just making sure you don't harass my team. It's called being a commanding officer-"

"-It's called being infatuated." Matt interjected. His eyes were dull and bland. "You had better learn that right quick if anything is to come of this relationship. And as for your chivalrous attitude Mr. David, Knight of the fucking ONI table, you can chuck that straight out the window." He turned the bland eyes back to Claire. "Claire doesn't go for the polite strong silent type. She prefers the edgy blonde types that…"

Claire didn't realize she had drawn back her fist to strike Matt until David had caught it with his other gloved hand. This seemed to encourage Matt if anything. "Now that's more how she likes it."

"Matt?" David's voice was calm, expressionless.

"Yes?"

"You appear to be emotionally compromised on this operation. Logically speaking, I can't allow you to accompany my team in this state your in. I have no choice but to bench you."

"Bench me?" Matt was no longer smiling.

"Yep, bench you. You're clearly not fit to go into combat at this time."

Captain Ross, flanked by two armored ODST's, entered the armory. "Chief, you and your prima donnas' ready? Rousseau has graciously informed me that we are fifteen minutes out. He wants your task force down in the Pelican bay two minutes ago."

David didn't avert his eyes. "Yeah, we're almost ready. Captain, can I ask you a favor?"

"Depends on the favor."

David glanced toward the ODST Captain. "Lieutenant Keller appears to be under a lot of stress right now. He's been harassing Sergeant Avalos and cursing out members of my team. I can't reasonably lead this man into action in the state he's in. I was wondering if you could escort him to the infirmary.

Ross cocked his head. "Keller, what on earth have you been up to son?"

"Murder and small-scale genocide; basically the same thing as my pseudo-commanding officer right here." He jerked his thumb towards David.

Ross's brow furrowed. He knew Keller, knew what he was like, but this edgy, wild eyed creature in front of him only vaguely resembled the competent squad leader he knew. He glanced at David, and saw in his eyes conviction. Anthony Ross was a brave man, but he was not foolhardy; he was not one to cross a determined Spartan.

Quietly he gave the order. "Sergeant's Pappas and Wagner, secure Lieutenant Keller. Escort him to the infirmary immediately. He's obviously suffering some sort of breakdown."

Keller blew his breath out of his mouth, smacked his lips. "And so it begins." He dutifully relinquished his sidearm and his submachine gun, and flanked by the two armored ODSTs, walked out of the armory. He glanced back once, looking pointedly at Claire. "Uh, I will see you, when you return from playing soldier. Ah, and if you don't return, then well, it was wonderful seeing you again."

Then he laughed, long and loud, as they filed out of the armory and into the corridor.

Silence pervaded the room in his wake. Claire turned back towards David, about to rebuke him for intervening, when she caught the strangest look in his eye. It wasn't anger, or amusement, or even smugness.

The look in his eyes seemed almost like regret.

Then it was gone, and he looked down at her. "C'mon." he muttered quietly. "Let's get to the Pelican."

The team was oddly quiet as they entered the docking bay and filed into the Pelican. David entered the cockpit and nodded to the pilot, a pale woman with fiery red hair and cool green eyes. "Chief Petty Officer Spartan-009, Captain Della Kennedy, your pilot today. Welcome aboard Romeo-Five One."

David gently shook her hand. "The pleasure is all mine, Captain."

"Please, call me Red. My call-sign; when I hear it I know when to start picking up the pace." She adjusted her helmet, and before lowering her visor, smiled sweetly. "And Chief? It's an honor to meet a Spartan face-to-face."

"Noted, Red." David moved back to the hold, where TORN VICTOR sat on the benches, silent and shifting in their seats.

David's comm. crackled to life. "TORN VICTOR, this is Captain Rousseau, do you copy?"

"We copy loud and clear sir. What's the situation so far?"

"Bad and getting worse. The Covenant sent a small detachment, relatively speaking, and their busy harassing the colonies defenses. Ground troops have already been deployed in major cities to silence aerial defenses, give their ships the room to start glassing."

"So where are we headed?"

"Alexandretta; that's where the Covenant appear to be concentrating their attack. What does your AI have?"

Celsius spoke up, having remained silent for most of the time she and David had been reunited. "I'm already inside the Covenant battle net. I think they're getting sloppy on us, David. These encryptions are getting looser than a prostitute's-"

"That's enough, Celsius." The Captain sounded alarmed. David was starting to regret the times he had cursed while under Celsius's watch.

"Sorry, Captain. In any case, yes, the Covenant have already deployed ground troops, gunships, and heavy armor in Alexandretta. Their main target appears to be the UNSC garrison, but I'm also getting intermittent reports of casualties taken by human guerilla fighters. The people down there are giving them all kinds of hell. Unfortunately, this only seems to be pissing them off more."

"Chief, Romeo-Five One will insert you on the outskirts of the city. I want you to move in and link up with any UNSC forces still alive. Do not allow the Covenant to destroy those air defenses."

Sergeant Rand spoke up. "Captain, what about survivors?"

"Survivors are secondary objectives in this op. If the Covenant destroy those defenses, there won't be any survivors to worry about! Am I clear, TORN VICTOR?"

"Crystal, sir, we are Oscar Mike." David shouted up towards the front. "Red, let's go!"

"Roger that." With that the hatch closed, the ship bay doors opened, and the Pelican shuddered as her engines came to life. Red skillfully maneuvered through the doors, and suddenly they were in open space, just above the planets atmosphere.

David moved up front and peered out the cockpit. Below him, the planet Macedon filled his vision. It was a beautiful back water planet; if David didn't know any better, he would have said it was Earth.

He frowned as he saw the Covenant ships. At least half a dozen cruisers, a number of frigates, and even an Assault Carrier were looming over the planet. The fleet was probably three times smaller than their own, but they were already hovering dangerously close to the planets surface, which could mean only one thing: glassing.

_And you know what that means David?_

_ Shut up you piece of-_

_ It means that there ain't going to be just fried ODST's tonight; there going to be fried colonists, baby!_

David resisted the urge to spit. _I would happily lobotomize myself with my own Combat Knife if it meant getting rid of you!_

The voice laughed, in an eerily similar manner to the way Keller had laughed when the ODSTs had escorted him to the infirmary. _You think I'm threatened by your promise of self inflicted torture? No way, Davy Boy. No freakin' way._

David returned to the hold and examined his troops. TORN VICTOR didn't look like a bunch of hard nosed heart breakers; they looked like scared recruits on their first mission, green as grass and full of piss and vinegar.

Atwood appeared to notice this, because he suddenly piped up, his thin voice somehow carrying over the roar of the Pelican's descent. "Hey, it just occurred to me that we are a bunch of badass motherfucking commando's on our way to kill Covies and take names, and we don't have a war anthem to trumpet us into battle! Pilot! Does this rig have a sound system?"

"Hell yes it does." Came the reply.

"Then would you mind terribly if I plugged in a little rhythm to blaze our path into battle?"

"Hell no I would mind. Be my guest."

Atwood briefly went into the cockpit and plugged in a tiny disk. Immediately a series of spacey, hyped up guitar rhythms' filled the hold that quickly reached crescendo and smashed into a pulsing rock anthem. Electric guitar and drum intertwined as synthetic voices repeated one word: "Follow". Like magic, the mood picked up. Schaefer saluted Atwood and began playing air guitar on his shotgun. Other soldiers roared their approval, thumped each other on the back, and tapped their boots in time with the racing beat.

David depolarized his visor and briefly caught Claire's eye. She was laughing, grinning, and looking more at ease than he had seen her in a while. She matched his gaze. He shrugged, tapped the evil grin on his chin, and winked. Claire's grin grew wider and flashed him a thumbs-up.

_At least there's that._

That was the last time he felt that good all day.

**[08 April 2548]**

**[Alexandretta, Macedon, Hydra System]**

**[1005 Hours]**

There was a whirlwind of air and dust as Romeo-Five One ascended into the air. "I'll be on stand-by for evac, TORN VICTOR. Just give me a holler."

"Acknowledged Five One, see you soon." David released the comm. and shouldered his Battle Rifle. "Rand, once we're inside the city, I want you to take your squad through Delta sector. Sweep for survivors and link up with any active friendlies."

"Ah, so this is the two pronged assault then, is it?"

"Copy that. Corporal Wheeler, take point."

The ODST nodded silently, raised his suppressed SMG, and moved forward at a half crouch. David hadn't heard him say a single word yet; the man was simply mute. He waved Claire and his squad up. "Let's go."

The two teams quickly entered the outskirts of the city, moved down a side alleyway, and passed through a pedestrian tunnel that spilled out into a small public park. David breathed heavily, tasting the air that was filtered through his helmet. He could smell grass, fresh and green, mixed with the faint aroma of vehicle exhaust and the fresh tang of

_Blood_

Not to mention the strange, sweetish cloying odor that he had long ago associated with Grunts.

As if to concur with his thoughts, Wheeler raised a clenched fist. David keyed his comm. "You got something?" He received a tacit nod in answer, and asked a second question, "How many?"

The ODST tapped his visor, pointed slightly to his right, and held up four fingers. He deftly pantomimed the strange waddling gait of Covenant Grunts.

"Four Tango's, Grunts, out in the open." He holstered his Battle Rifle next to his Spartan Laser, drew his Automag and released the safety. "Let's do this quietly. Avalos, Rand, on me."

The three, with Wheeler in tow, slunk out of the tunnel and took shelter behind tree planters. David's expert eye picked out the bright crimson and burnt orange of the alien uniforms. He tapped Claire's shoulder, directed her to take aim at one Grunt manning a plasma turret on the balcony of an outdoor greenhouse. Rand sighted a second Grunt next to him, and David and Wheeler drew separate beads on two Grunts patrolling below.

"On my mark. Three, two, one, mark!"

There were a spatter of muffled coughs, and each Grunt fell to the ground dead, neat holes in their heads. Claire rose from her hiding place, surveyed the area, and nodded. "Alright, I think that was it-"

"Get down!" David hissed. Too late.

An enraged, guttural roar resounded from Claire's left, and she swiveled just in time to see a wall of blue armored animal come bursting from the shadows. A weapon flashed, and she registered a heavy pistol contraption with wicked curved bayonet before she dove to the side- just in time to dodge a series of red hot spikes the size of pencils embed themselves in the space she had just vacated.

David rose to his feet and the creature growled and shifted its fire, but flinched as gunfire peppered its armor, reverberating off an energy barrier.

"Wheeler!" David called too late as the taciturn ODST rose from his hiding place, SMG blazing. He closed distance rapidly with the gorilla sized beast, mercilessly shooting it until its armor fell apart with a loud clang. Enraged, the beast bent and began charging. Claire's heart squeezed as she glimpsed shining white fangs and gleaming ruby eyes.

Wheeler rolled gracefully as the creature attempted to head butt him, and his boot came up, connecting with the beasts chin. It howled in agony, but before it could react, Wheeler had drawn his pistol, stuck it in the gorilla's chin, and pulled the trigger. There was a muffled bang as the bullet went through one ear and the beasts brains came out the other.

"What the hell was that thing?" Rand whispered.

David calmly reloaded his pistol, checking the ejection port. "Brutes, big hairy gorilla's with real bad attitudes. They're a hell of a lot worse than Elites." He emerged from his cover and swept the immediate area. "Rand, get out here. Sweep and clear the area." He holstered his pistol and helped Claire up.

She dusted herself off. "Sorry, I don't know what I was thinking-"

"You weren't." David's voice was taught as a length of twine. "Don't make a habit of it. Is that clear, Sergeant?"

Claire didn't immediately answer.

"Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Chief." Claire stiffly holstered her Automag, drew her Assault Rifle, and moved on.

Rand came back with two of his squad. "Area's clear." He motioned towards the east. "Looks like this road leads straight out onto the main street. That'd be the best shot to get us to any friendlies still breathing."

"Yep." David touched his ear. "What do you say, Celsius? How does our path look?"

"According to Covenant reports, they already swept through this area. Anything you'll encounter will probably be stragglers or rear guard, nothing too heavy." Her voice was anxious, something not lost on the Spartan. "David, there's something else. Covenant forces appear to be massing in a sports arena, approximately two clicks from your position. I can't make out everything, but they're going there for a reason-"

"-which means we should be following suit. Consider it done." He tapped Rand on his helmet. "Sweep Delta sector, link up with any forces you find, and make sure those anti air artillery. Don't try to play hero, get me?"

Rand depolarized his visor and eyed the Spartan strangely. "What part of that does not involve 'playing hero'?"

"The part where you risk those AA guns for some dime-a-dozen colonist. You can be the hero or you can be the guy who gets the job done, its your choice. As for me, I'm hoping you're the guy who gets the job done." David concluded smoothly. "So, you get me?"

"Yeah, yeah I get you."

"Good, now get your squad moving." David motioned for his own squad, and the two teams parted ways. Not that it really mattered.

They were both heading for the some destination: the belly of the beast.

**10 minutes later…**

The back entrance to the stadium loomed large in front of them. With a practiced eye, David scanned the structure, from the ornate parapets on the roof to the solid buttresses that made up its middle to the yawning tunnel entrances that gaped like the mouths of pythons.

"No contacts. Move up. Avalos, take right. Schaefer, left."

The commando's silently hurried across the open, deserted street into the comforting dimness of the buildings shadow. On the other side, presumably on the field where human athletes would pummel each other into the earth in an age old game called "soccer", the sounds of life were clear and distinct, contrasting sharply with the deadness of the city around them.

Claire sorely hoped that human resistance fighters had holed up in this arena, but by the sounds emerging from the interior, and the fact that in ten minutes and six square blocks they had not come across a single human, living or dead, she had a feeling the company on the other side was not friendly.

Across from her, on the other side of the tunnel entrance, David tilted his head up and examined the structure's above them. She heard him whispering to his AI in his helmet.

She suddenly noticed that beyond them, the tunnels spilled out into an atrium, with stairs leading upwards where, presumably, VIP boxes were located. "Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"Atrium beyond looks clear. Those stairs probably lead to a good vantage point."

David followed her indicative finger, nodded, then motioned for the rest of the team. "Good eyes, Sergeant Avalos."

Claire smiled slightly beneath her visor.

Five minutes later, she wished with all her heart that she had never suggested, even thought of suggesting this route.

The atrium was indeed clear, albeit trashed and stained with human blood, the stairs did indeed lead up into VIP rooms with clear view of the field below them, and the field below them was filled with-

Claire could feel her pupils dilate as her eyes, against her will, widened to take in the grotesque view below. Atwood gagged audibly in his helmet as Schaefer muttered strangled curses under his breath. On her left, Katy gasped in horror. David remained silent behind his helmets grin.

The field below was hopping with multitudes of Covenant. Everywhere were the rainbow colors of various Elites, Grunts, Jackals, and Brutes. Hovering close to the earth like a monstrous insect was a Bandit gunship, huge and glowing purple. And throughout the field, completely covering the green, green grass was the slick crimson of human blood.

Claire could feel a scream rise in her throat as she watched the carnage. A huge crowd of humans lay in a pit excavated in the middle of the field, probably from the miniature suns those Covenant tanks spat from their cannons. Even from a distance, Claire could make out horrified expressions on the faces of the dead, loved ones locked in death's embrace as rigor mortis slowly set in.

Men lay where they fell, some gripping weapons they had made a blind rush for in a final act of defiance. Mothers cradled their children to their breasts as if the comfort of their embrace could ward away the burning plasma. Moans of the dying and screams of the living were muffled by the dull roar of the gunship; besides, they were quickly being cut off as the aliens calmly moved among them, executing every breathing body with a quick pistol shot to the forehead. Some, however, weren't so quick, as overzealous Elites and salivating Jackals would pump bolt after bolt of ionized energy into the bodies of humans.

Claire saw a group of Jackals fighting and snarling over the bloody corpse of a middle aged man; the limbs flopped like rag dolls as they clawed it. In her mind she could feel the thought flap like a sheet on a wire, _wake up wake up if only I'd wake up from this-_

_**NIGHTMARE**_, David thought. His mind was spinning, his thoughts were racing. He felt light headed, as if he were having an out of body experience.

_It's a cliché, _he thought as he felt his hand dip for the Battle Rifle he had holstered on his back. _It's a bad action movie cliché, gratuitous pulp for tired filmmakers looking to add emotion to their gung-ho violence. Cold hearted hero see's enemy atrocities, becomes compassionate and emotionally driven to complete his missions, ends up defying orders and logic to satisfy his own bloodlust. _This thought raced through his mind like an insane thoroughbred as he numbly removed the rifle from his back and released the safety. It felt like he was moving in slow motion as he raised the weapon to his shoulder; the irony was not lost on his calcified mind. _Slow motion scene right before the massive gunfight in which all the heroes are killed. It's all a cliché…_

"You…_ugly…_motherFUCKERS!" The strangled gasp snapped David back into his soldier mode, and the signature click of a pistol being cocked brought his body back into action. He whirled and grabbed Katy's gun hand just as she reached the window to begin firing. She struggled in his grasp like a caught fish. "Get offa me, get OFF!"

He forced her hand, whirled her around, and pinned her against the glass. "Shut up." He whispered fiercely.

"Get your fucking hand off of me…!"

"Stop it, that's on order, Private!" He depolarized his visor and locked eyes with hers. He could see the fresh shine of tears, even through the bulky ODST visor. "Think about this. Dozens of Covenant are down there. You open fire, you bring them to us, and we end up like those people in that pit: dead. Dead and for what? _Nothing_, nothing except a field full of people we couldn't help anyway!"

The team had suddenly gathered close, as if to silence her with claustrophobia. Claire pushed in and wrapped her arm around the Private's shoulders. "Katy, you have to keep calm. They're dead, I know, but we can't do anything about it. You can't lose it right now." Her voice was bordering on hysteria itself.

Sounds of faint sobs were emanating from Katy's helmet. Claire gently pulled the contraption off, along with her own helmet, and pressed her head to Katy's. She sobbed into her collar. "So many…so many are down there…"

"I know, but we were too late. There's nothing we can do about that." Claire responded gently.

David swallowed, mouth dry. He suddenly wanted to extricate himself from this emotional moment; this wasn't his forte, not by a long shot. Still keeping his left hand on Katy's pistol in her hand, he keyed his comm. "Victor-Omega, this is Alpha. What is you status, over?"

Rand's voice crackled over the comm. "Quiet all along the western front, Alpha. We've covered at least half of this sector, and haven't found a single living soul. But we found the artillery."

"And?"

"Shot to hell sir. Dead loss. We're finishing up here looking for survivors, but-"

"Don't bother. We're too late. The Covenant beat us to the punch."

"Roger that." David could hear the pang of sorrow in the other mans voice. "You want me to radio the _Wolfs Sun_?"

"Do it. We'll fall back and meet you at the primary exfil point. ETA, fifteen minutes. Alpha, over and out." He let go of the comm. button and turned his attention back to Katy. She had stopped gasping, but her eyes were red rimmed and she looked exhausted. "You cool?"

She sniffled, hiccupped. "Yes sir."

"Cool as an ice cube?"

She nodded slowly, and he felt her hand twitch in his grip. "Chief, you can let go of my hand now."

He looked down; her fist was almost completely lost in his gauntlet. "Oh."

A slight sound caused the entire team to whirl around towards the door.

A lone Grunt, wearing the crimson of a squad leader, stood in the doorway. His beady eyes were bulging in their sockets as he gazed at the group of heavily armed humans barely ten feet away. He held something in his claw, something hard to make out. David, by squinting, could finally determine what it was, and realized later that it added the cherry to the sickly comic aspect of a normally unfunny situation.

The red armored little bastard was carrying a teddy bear.

Atwood squeaked, literally squeaked. That seemed to break the captivating spell holding everybody in place. The Grunt jumped a foot into the air and dropped the teddy bear. He chattered frantically in his strange, high pitched voice.

David reacted on instinct. His fingers tightened around Katy's hand, jerked her arm up, and forced her finger, locked against the trigger, to squeeze.

In the plush interior of the VIP box, the Pistol's shot sounded like a cannon's roar. The Grunt flipped end over end and landed on its face, or what was left of its face, and lay still, slick blue fluid spurting across the carpet.

David felt his hands carefully remove the pistols from Katy's limp palm. He calmly ejected the clip, removed the single round in the chamber, and examined the M6 model D Pistol. "I really got to get me one of these."

Claire's voice was strangled. "Shit…that thing was loud…"

Atwood was peering down the scope of his DMR, looking out the window. "Chief, we got a serious problem here. Covenant down there are going ape shit. Time to fuck off and haul butt, I think."

"Noted. Sergeant Avalos, take lead. Start heading to the extraction point." David handed the Pistol back to Katy and began looking around the room, searching for something.

"What the hell are you going to do?"

"Slow down the Covenant. Don't worry, I'll be right behind you."

"Jesus, what happened to the 'no hero' stuff?"

David found what he was looking for: a grey and red door marked 'Emergency'. He strode over to it, drew his foot back, and smashed the lock open. "This isn't hero shit. This is looking out for my team. Have to do something right by you, don't I?"

"I-"

"Go. Now. I'll be with you in two minutes." With that, David disappeared through the door and was racing up the metal stairs, boots banging on every step. Part of him questioned the validity of his judgment, staying behind to cover his team.

But he'd be damned if another Agricola massacre would happened under his watch.

He reached the roof with little trouble, just in time to catch an Elite, wearing the anti-grav apparatus of the Ranger type, land on the roof. The aliens eyes bugged out and he reached for his plasma rifle, but David was faster, and tackled the beast, snapping its neck before it could fight back.

Rousing himself, he drew the bulky Spartan Laser off his back, and flipped the dial to full blast. It would take three, four seconds for the laser to charge that much energy, three precious seconds…

_Too late to back out now._

David reached the edge of the roof, aimed down the advanced scope, and sighted the biggest target in the area: the Bandit gunship, still hovering over the field. He could hear faint roars as sharp eyed aliens spotted him, and the Bandit shifted to bring its plasma cannon to bear- giving David a clear shot at the pilots seat.

There was an earsplitting _ZWOOOOOSSHHH_ as a bolt of crimson light lanced from the Spartan Laser and connected with the cockpit, destroying it in a burst of white hot power. The ship careened drunkenly and plowed a furrow into the arena ground, taking at least half a dozen Elites with it. David smiled, stowed the Spartan Laser, and turned, sprinting to the other end of the roof and leaping off of it. He landed fifty feet below, cracking the pavement below him. He felt something creak in his joints, but he brushed it off and began sprinting towards his retreating team, many of whom were glancing back at the noise emanating from the arena.

Claire caught sight of him. "What the hell was that?"

"A parting gift. Didn't want that gunship following us."

The team said little more as they raced through the empty, deserted streets, bypassing blocked area's, and reaching a cul-de-sac just in time to meet a pair of Ghosts, who appeared to have heard the disturbance and come to investigate.

Claire grit her teeth, eyes searching wildly for one, any escape route. They finally landed on a sewer grate. "Chief!" she yelled, pointing.

David glanced down, caught her intention, and grasping the grate in both hands, ripped it from his hinges. "Everyone, below, now!"

The commando's dove into the sewer. David followed last, just as the first Ghost came barreling past trying to crush him.

Flashlight's beamed on, and Corporal Wheeler, still silent and taciturn throughout all this, motioned towards a tunnel straight ahead of them. By crouching, everyone, even David in his bulky armor, could squeeze through. The Spartan waved him on. "Go ahead, Wheeler."

Schaefer flicked on the light on his own shotgun, looked around. "And the shit just keeps on coming." He lifted his boot momentarily, sighed disgustedly. "Literally too."

"Schaefer, can it. Celsius, what's the chatter on the battle net?"

"The Covenant were scared shitless by what you did to their gunship, but they're scrambling now, looking for you."

"Any reports on Victor-Omega?"

"No disturbances reported in their sector, so I can assume they've maintained their stealth. However, every soldier in a ten block radius has been alerted and are on their way to search for us- and that is _a_ _lot_ of Covenant."

"Scramble them, punch a hole in their kill zone. We're in the sewers heading towards the exfil point primary."

"I'll do what I can, but- damn, Captain Rousseau wants to talk to you. I'm patching him through."

The Captains voice echoed over the comm. "TORN VICTOR, what the hell is going on down there, over?"

"FUBAR, sir. AA guns have been disabled, and Covenant own the streets. We're extracting now."

"Wait, what about survivors?"

"None; we were too late sir." David stated flatly.

"Are you sure? Have you done sweeps-?"

"Covenant are burying bodies by the hundreds in the arena. We covered sixteen blocks and didn't see a soul. This city is dead, sir. I'm sorry."

"Goddamnit. Well, then this wont matter much then."

"What is it, Captain?"

"Covenant reinforcements are already showing up. At least half a dozen more ships, including heavy cruisers. They've already started glassing the far side of the planet." The Captain swore fluently over the comm.

David, for once, felt like he could sympathize. "Captain, how many Longswords are in action right now?"

"All active squadrons are deployed."

"Weapons?"

"Uh…standard armaments all across the board. Chief, what are you-?"

David sighed. "I want two fighters with Shiva warheads to peel off and bomb Alexandretta." Ahead of him, he saw Claire and Katy glance back at him, their alarms clear even through their visors.

"Chief, I can't authorize that. Not if there is even a chance that a human refugee is alive down there."

"There isn't." He replied, his voice cold. "You gave me unlimited resources, sir. Now I'm calling them in."

Silence on the other end. Then came the reply, stiff and dead. "Fine. I'm redirecting two Longswords now, ETA fifteen minutes. You had better be out of the city by then Spartan, or may God have mercy on your souls. Rousseau, out."

David shut off his comm. "God isn't here," he muttered to himself.

Claire continued to stare at him. Hate radiated out of her posture. "That's the plan? Haul ass, nuke the city, and forget any person who might still be alive-?"

"Yes, it is. If you want, stay and look for survivors."

"Then I will!" Katy interjected; she whirled around, still gripping her Pistol. "I would sure as hell stay even if you dropped a fucking nuke on my head! Even if there was only one person left in this goddamn city-"

David grabbed her by the shoulder and slung her to the side of the cramped tunnel. "Then stay." _And_, he thought, _thank your God you have the luxury to give it all up for one person, you bitch._

The evil voice crooned, _atta boy, Davy. Atta boy._

Claire turned, eyes livid, and tried to reach for her friend, but David blocked her and shoved her towards the front. "No. She wants to stay, let her. Everyone else, keep moving."

"You bastard." She whispered.

He didn't respond. He was suddenly tired of talking, just wanted to crawl out of this godforsaken tunnel, get the hell out of this doomed city, and try to forget this entire mission.

_God isn't here._

Of course, like so much else, that just wasn't in the cards that day.

The team emerged from the sewers in a wide boulevard, just as a Bandit gunship landed, dropping off a variety of Brutes. The humans froze as the hulking aliens caught sight of them, and snarled viciously. Heading the pack was an enormous specimen dressed in elaborate crimson armor and wielding a cudgel the size of a man. He slammed it to the ground, and electrical bursts emanated from its head.

David breathed. "That's a Brute Chieftain."

"What the hell is he holding?" Atwood whispered.

"Gravity hammer. One hit will send you flying like a rag doll."

On his right, Wheeler racked the bolt of his submachine gun. "Well, lets do this." And before anyone could absorb the fact that he actually spoke, he had hurled a fragmentation grenade towards the Brute pack, only fifty feet away. The grenade detonated, bursting energy shields on many of their armor suits but generally pissing them off. The Chieftain raised his hammer in one claw and pointed towards the Commando's with the other, roaring in his thick alien tongue.

"Weapons free, fire!" David rolled to the side as a wave of pencil-length spikes filled the air. He came up on one knee, Spartan Laser shouldered and blast charging. The Chieftain saw him and began charging straight at him. Forty, thirty, twenty…twelve feet. David could see the red eyes gleaming madly, the saliva strands hanging from the corners of the beasts mouth. The Brute raised his hammer to strike…

_ZWOOOOSSSSHHH. _The Spartan Laser roared, and a smoking, cauterized hole the size of a basketball appeared in the center of the Chieftain, and the two Brutes behind him. _Triple Kill_, he thought. The moment couldn't be savored, however, as the Chieftain's guard came charging over his fallen leader's corpse, roaring in rage. David ducked and parried the beasts insane blow with his Laser, drew his combat knife with his free hand, and stabbed the Brute in the neck. It roared and clawed, but he slammed the Laser's end into its face, toppling it to the ground.

"RUSSELL!" David whirled in time to see Corporal Russell, a Scanner, get torn in half by a Brute. He made the swap to his Battle Rifle and took aim, but a grenade shell connected with the alien's head, exploding it. Schaefer knocked the corpse to the ground and pointed over David's shoulder. "Chief, on your six!"

David turned and fire three bursts, knocking back the first in a wave of Grunts and Jackals that had leapt out of a second gunship. No time to switch to the Spartan Laser, he tossed a frag grenade to wax the rest, then turned his attention as mixed squads of Grunts and crimson armored Elites came pouring out of a corner.

_God isn't here, not by a longhsot._

He keyed his comm. "Victor-Omega, we are heavily engaged and taking casualties. What is your status, over?"

"Oscar Mike, Victor-Alpha. We hear the gunfire, stand-by for an assist."

"No time, Omega. Longswords are en route to raze the city. Get out of here, we'll catch up."

"Negative."

"That's not a suggestion, Sergeant. Romeo-Five One isn't going to wait forever."

"No offense Chief, but I'm not about to be the one reporting you KIA. Ah, here we are. Team, weapons free!"

A SPNKR rocket flew with frightening speed and demolished a lance of Grunts and Jackals charging straight for the Spartan. Two Elites were shredded by Assault Rifle fire as a wounded Brute reached for a spike rifle and was rewarded with a grenade shell to the face. On the other end of the boulevard, a familiar figure in CQB armor waved and reloaded the grenade launcher on his MA5K.

David hustled to meet Rand and the rest of Victor Omega. He shook his head disapprovingly. "I said keep going."

"You might've said 'Gee, thanks Rand, for saving our asses from potential annihilation." Rand glanced left as Claire joined them. "You okay, Claire?"

"Fine. We're getting nuked, Rand."

"Yeah, so I'm told. Who gave the ord-?"

"The Chief of course." The ODST jerked her thumb disdainfully at the Spartan.

Rand glanced at David, shrugged, looked away. "Well, a nuke wouldn't have been my first choice, but it wasn't my call."

"And make sure to thank God it's not." David said with a withering glance at Claire. She looked away too.

"No Chief, I'm not saying- I…just…don't think I would have been able to make that call…" His voice trailed off as he spotted something on the horizon. "Shit, contacts inbound!"

"Reinforcements!" Schaefer thundered over the comm. David fed a fresh clip into his Battle Rifle, issuing rapid fire orders like gunshots. "Avalos, start falling back with Alpha. Cover Omega. Rand, staggered line, suppressing fire, now!"

"On it!" Rand motioned to his machine gunner, who dropped to his stomach and began pumping lead from his GPMG. David directed the rest of Omega to set up a front line to cover his own team, then switched to his Spartan Laser, took careful aim, and fired. He missed the Cockpit but the left troop compartment was engulfed in a ball of fire. The ship tried to maintain balance, failed, and dropped to the ground.

The right troop compartment, however, successfully deployed its load of Brute warriors, who immediately began charging towards Omega team. Meanwhile, a second Bandit was moving in on the left flank, Grunts and Jackals tumbling like a wave from her troop compartments. David fired his second to last laser, destroying that gunship as it tried to sweep past and raze the soldiers with plasma cannon fire. The air was ripped apart as bullets, plasma, and spikes sung, found targets, and felled them with multiple hits. An air force CRC commando screamed as he took a spike to the arm, while another made no sound as he was filled with Needler quills and was ripped in half from the ensuing explosion. A plasma grenade sailed through the gunfire, connecting directly with Rand's helmet. The Scanner ripped the contraption off, face twisting, and hurled it back, catching quite a few Grunts in the blast.

David keyed his comm. "Omega, fall back! Fall back! Alpha, covering fire!"

One by one, the members of Omega twisted and sprinted, tapping the shoulders of the commando next to them to alert them to move. Alpha, crouched in the relative safety of the buildings, covered the retreat.

The comm. screeched with static as David heard Claire yell, "Rand, come on, MOVE!"

The Scanner was alternating fire between his MA5K and its grenade module, dropping Covenant soldier after Covenant soldier. David roared, "Rand, on your two!"

In response, he whirled and sent a grenade shell into two elites, both wielding bulky, complex looking weapons David recognized as Concussion Rifles. The first elite was killed directly by the explosion, and the second fell to its knees, its shields broken.

David waved him on and dropped another two Brutes with his Battle Rifle. "Move, Rand, come on-!" He began sprinting towards the rest of his team, Rand close behind, but something-

"RAAAANNNDDDD!" Claire screamed.

David turned and saw the second Elite, wounded but still alive, rise and aim its Concussion Rifle directly at Rand. As if in slow motion, he saw the Scanner eject the spent shell from his grenade launcher, load a fresh one, and take aim, but took aim knowing all the time that the Elite was doing the same thing, and that neither one was going to move…

David turned his feet and hurled himself forward, too late. Rand fired at the same time the Elite launched his own round. Both projectiles found their marks; the Elite was blown off its feet and did not rise, and Rand was hurled up, flipped sideways, and landed with his back on the pavement, eyes staring blankly into eternity. His empty rifle clattered to the ground beside him.

"NOOOOOOOO!" David, for a moment, couldn't tell who was screaming, until he realized that it was Claire's voice, screaming into his ear as she tried to rush towards him. He caught her and dragged her back to the rest of the task force. She beat against his armor. "Let me go, let me go-!"

"He's dead!" David yelled. "There's nothing we can do!" He turned back briefly to fire his Battle Rifle at incoming troops, then made it to the safety of the buildings. "Let's move! Don't look back!"

It took the weary soldiers another eight minutes, eight agonizing minutes of running with the sounds of screeching and plasma weapons at their backs, before they reached the exfil point. Romeo-Five One was already there, hovering close to the ground. Captain Kennedy's voice rang over the comm. "Let's go, boys and girls, we're out of time!"

David, still holding onto Claire with one arm, hauled her aboard the Pelican with the rest of TORN VICTOR, and deposited her on the nearest seat. She had stopped screaming and was now completely silent. Her visor was polarized.

"Close the hatch, Red."

"Got it, Chief. You have a communiqué waiting for on the line."

"Patch it through." David pressed a hand to the headset in his helmet.

"TORN VICTOR, this is Longsword squadron-211. Waiting for your orders, over."

"211, this is TORN VICTOR. Fire mission, danger close. Enemy armor and infantry throughout target area. Weapon package Sierra, deploy at center of target zone, over."

"Chief, that's within half a mile of your position!"

"That's why I said danger close. Drop the bombs."

"Roger, Chief. Two minutes, stand-by for fire mission."

David banged on the hull. "Do some distance, Red."

"Roger." He heard the Captain breathe. "Sir? I'm sorry."

David didn't reply. His gaze came to rest on Claire. She sat forward, her shoulders hunched, she was the picture of despair. That strange instinct in the back of David's skull reared its head again, and suddenly David found himself reaching for her. She slapped his hand away. "Get the fuck away from me!"

He persisted. "Claire, stop it! Please, no-" as she tried once again to pull away from him. He sat down and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close as if to reassure her with his touch. She struggled violently, but he held on tight, and she finally gave in and collapsed against him. She pulled off her helmet and buried her face against the black under suit under his head. She sobbed quietly into his neck as he pulled off his own helmet. Her tears splashed against the suit. "H-he's gone…he's gone…"

"It's not over." He whispered into her hair. "We're going to make them pay, Claire. I promise."

She said nothing more; fresh sobs were muffled against his suit. He said nothing more as he held her in his embrace, knowing full well that it didn't make any difference, but _feeling _that it was the right, the only thing, to do. This wouldnt bring back Rand, and all throughout David felt slightly guilty, as if he were taking advantage of something he didn't entirely understand.

But all the same, he held her. Today had been the worst in a long while, and the only hope lay in tomorrow, that it would be better than this own dark day.

So, as if they were clinging to that hope, David and Claire clung to each other without letting go, all the way back to the _Wolf's Sun._


	8. Interlude 2: Foreign Correspondence

Interlude 2: Foreign Correspondence

"…_In other news, UNSC HIGHCOM reports today that a high level incursion sent to root out Covenant in the Hydra System has failed. While the details remain sketchy at this juncture, it appears that the joint task force assembled by Captain Jean Rousseau, commander of the UNSC Wolf's Sun, was badly defeated following a string of ill-planned attempts to deter Covenant forces away from the system's some twelve colonies. Exact casualties are unknown at this point, but point to figures in the thousands."_

"_The joint task force, which included the likes of a SPARTAN super soldier, is just another blow against the UNSC's war at home, as more and more people are beginning to doubt the Space Command's ability to effectively keep the Covenant forces away from human colonies."_

"…_the fact that their so-called 'super soldier' couldn't help anybody on this mis-be-guided attack, despite all his training and augmentation, to me, that proves that this military stratagem of grooming children to become super soldiers is a failure…"_

"…_a failure…"_

With a snarl, he slaps aside the data archive pad he was reading, almost upsetting his glass of whiskey on the oak desk. His eyes search the room wildly, looking for something, anything to break, to maim, to transfer this agony he's feeling onto something else.

Then with a deep breath the anger flees, banished back to its hiding place where it will emerge later on, as to its hosts fancy. It's host, on his part, rose from his desk and ran shaking hands through lank black hair. It had grown longer in recent months, he should get it cut. He should also remember to shave and clean his room and be polite to non-Spartan's and everything else.

But he was a soldier and he was alone and these trivial things held little consequence to him.

He paced back and forth in the room, from the bed to the desk, hands limp at his sides. He stopped at the small bookcase, eyeing distastefully the rows of books. Knowledge, all powerful and all useless in this infernal hell he and everyone else was stuck in. He thought this with growing rage, rage that hissed through his teeth and forced his nails to dig into his palms until he could almost feel the blood starting to flow.

But even the most carefully stoked rage was banked and cooled. After five, ten minutes of pacing he was back at the desk, pen in hand and plain piece of paper before him. He stared at it, heart pounding, wondering, for the thousandth time, exactly what he was doing.

Finally he lowered the pen and began to write:

_December 11, 2550_

_Dear Claire,_

(he hated writing that, made him feel weak, but what else could he do?)

_Just got back from another operation, out beyond normal space channels. I know you don't want to hear these ops, but that's the reason why I haven't written in three months. _(God that sounded weak even for him).

_How have you been? Yeah, I know, probably the same as ever. Same here, same here, except that I keep having those dreams. You remember, the ones I told you about? Bristow says that its my subconscious, admonishing me for what happened back in TORN VICTOR. He says its not my fault, that I did everything right, but that it still wasn't good enough. I wish I could believe him._

_I know you don't hold much respect for Bristow, but he was my father when I had nobody. He isn't afraid to do the necessary things, the things that no one else would do _(well, at least that's truth) _for the greater good._

_God, this letter sounds so pretentious right now. I just wanted to right, to check up on you, so-_

_Damn it! _He crumpled up the paper and tossed it onto his bed. After a moment though, he picked the paper up, smoothed it out, and placed it in the bottom drawer, along with all the letters Claire had written back to him.

He paused now, and taking the whole stack, began sifting through them. He read briefly from each:

_November 21, 2548_

_Hey David,_

_ I know its only been a month since we parted ways, but we said we'd keep in touch, right? Well, keep in touch as best we can. I'll try to keep this letter as neutral as possible; God only knows if someone isn't checking your mail over there on Reach._

_The squad is good. Katy says she's enclosing something with this letter. I'm not going to say what and ruin the surprise. As for me, well, its hard, but I think I'm finally getting used to the…_

_December 24, 2548_

_Hey David,_

_ Thanks for the quick response. Merry Christmas from everybody at the Wolfs Sun! I know by the time you receive this it'll probably be March, but it still counts. _

_Katy was shocked- and thrilled crazy, I might add- that you enclosed a kiss at the end of your last response. I didn't know how you'd react to that mistletoe in my last letter, or more importantly, how you'd explain it to anybody checking your mail, but Katy was still happy. She misses you David. She knows that during the incursion, you were just doing what you had…_

_April 5, 2549_

_David,_

_ We were worried when you didn't respond until last week. I really, really hate written mail, but the way things are looking, I don't think shore leave at Reach is on the horizon, so this is it. _

_I should have known you'd be on one of Bristow's operations. I know he's like a father to you David, but he's a Commanding Officer, a perfect one. The perfect commanding officer is the one who loves every one of his soldiers, but at the same time, is willing to sacrifice them all without batting an eye. I know you know that; you're bright enough, even if a little hardheaded sometimes. _

_Just don't get yourself killed. You're my friend, doesn't matter what else anybody calls you, and if you disappeared again, I don't know…_

_October 11, 2549_

_Dear David,_

_ I really hate these letters. Make's me feel like some slut in some stupid romantic drama. Yeah, I said romantic. You said not to ask what you were doing, but I've gotten three letters from you in three months. That makes me wonder if you haven't stored letters at the mail center and jumped off the face of the galaxy doing Bristow's dirty work again._

_I was on leave back on Earth recently. First time in at least three years. If you ever get the chance David, you should definitely visit New York. It's a big place, but I'm sure with your skills, you shouldn't have much trouble finding your way…_

_December 9, 2549_

_ It was good to get a letter that was actually a response from you, instead of a P.O. Box gift you left. Yeah, we're all still alive and kicking out here on the Wolf's Sun. Captain Ross was moved up to command staff- against his wishes, of course- and he's now a Major. Lt. Girard is now B-Company's CO. All the ladies are still…what word would you say? Enamored, with him, I guess? Sounds about right. _

_I'd ask you how Keller was, but considering our last encounter, back during the TORN VICTOR days; I don't really want to ask. David, I want you to know that the Matt Keller I knew was a good man. He was uptight, but he wasn't crazy. Now, I don't know what replaced him._

_What happened to him David? Why would the Covenant torture him like that? It's not like them to take prisoners…_

_January 26, 2550_

_David,_

_ This is going to be my last letter for awhile. We're going on some deep cover operation, so no correspondence sent or received. I guess you would know the drill well enough. Not that it really matters; you never were much of a writer, even if you read all those classics under Bristow's tutelage._

_I have a bad feeling about this one, David. It's just a gut instinct, but I've learned to follow my gut on stuff like this. I don't know…_

_Anyway, I enclosed a picture of us, right after we beat away a Covenant advance on a small moon outpost. It barely qualified as a victory, but as you can probably see, we didn't really care. We were happy we just won once._

_Take care of yourself David. I'll write as soon as we're back in secure space._

_ -Claire_

It had been almost eleven months since he had received this letter. In that time he had written, and shelved or threw away, at least half a dozen letters, in between the dozen or so special operations he had undertaken with Bristow.

He took a sip of the whiskey in his glass. It was unpleasant, even after all these months, but it had a subtle smoothness to it that David had learned to appreciate in the months following that incursion in the Hydra system. Whiskey helped him. He never drank enough to get seriously drunk, but just enough to ease the transition between awake and asleep. He had learned to enjoy a glass with Bristow too, usually after a completed operation, when they could just kick back and enjoy each others company.

He had told Bristow, a few days after returning from the Hydra System, how he had made friends with the two ODSTs back on the _Wolfs Sun. _He did this for two reasons: one, so Keller would not inform Bristow first and make it look like he was trying to hide something, and two, because he knew he couldn't keep a secret from Bristow, not even after all these years. He had expected Bristow to be surprised, if not angry, but the old man never lost his cold façade, never batted an eyelash. He had even given the friendship his blessing.

_You're a grown man now, David. You've long earned the right to pick and choose your friends, without my needing to approve them. _

His exact words, David remembered. He mulled over them now as he nursed his whiskey.

A slight padding was at the door, and suddenly a small tube shaped dog with a shining smooth brown coat shuffled into the room. David reached down with a smile and ruffled the dog's ears. "Poncho, you moron, you should have stayed outside. Today's the only day the sun's going to shine." The dog licked his hand in response and jumped onto his leg, eyes begging for treats. David stuck his pinky into his glass and let the mutt lick the whiskey off the tip of his finger.

Poncho was the Christmas gift of over three years ago. David had christened him Poncho, after one of the secretaries in the Asymmetric Warfare Division, a woman with a family, gave the puppy a little poncho, "for wet weather", as she freely explained to David. The sight of the little mongrel trying walk around without tripping on the cloth almost brought tears to David's eyes.

Poncho was the most fun out of life he got now. The rest- monotony and whiskey broken by days and weeks of tension and terror.

His eyes fell to the pictures scattered on his desk. The first one was the one Claire had sent with her last letter, a picture of the squad on the surface of the backwater moon they had taken back against the Covenant. There must have been air on that moon, because their helmets were off. Their faces were grimy with dirt and sweat but radiant with genuine smiles, happy that they had actually won for once.

The second picture was one they had taken back during the Hydra incursion, right before their second mission groundside. It was a big picture, of the entire team, including Captain "Red" Kennedy, and the Spartan-III's Lee and Jennifer, to fill in for the people they had lost on Macedon. Everyone was smiling the faint, slightly ironic smile of hardened warriors going into battle. On the bottom of the picture, someone had scrawled, _Kicking ass and taking names. Sucks for you Mr. Charlie Foxtrot! –TF TORN VICTOR, April 2548._

David remembered the photograph well. There he was, upper right corner, towering over everyone else in the team. He had kept his helmet on, but depolarized his visor for the picture, at Claire's request. Speaking of which…

There she was, standing right next to him. She had taken her helmet off for the picture, and even in otherwise full combat dress she looked resplendent.

_Resplendent…you miserable fucker, _he thought jadedly.

He buried his head in his arms, feeling the cool oak desk against his cheek. _Alright_, he argued silently to himself, _alright, lets face the facts. _

_I'm a Spartan super soldier. I'm twenty-seven years old. I've spent over two-thirds of my life training and fighting and killing, doing a lot of killing. I earn medals like a Boy Scout. Friends, family, lovers, I have almost none of those, because I've never had a need for them. _

_Two and a half years ago I met a good group of ODSTs and lowered my guard a bit. I made two friends. I got close to one. And now I miss the living hell out of her._

That was all true. Three months in TORN VICTOR, days spent fighting with Claire at his side, nights sometimes on patrol, or retrieval missions, or holed up in some makeshift command post trying to cadge sleep, Claire almost always by his side.

She was there when he almost got his face mauled by a berserk Brute, leaving him with a distinctive upside down y-shaped scar on the left side of his mouth. Ouch.

She was there when they successfully pushed the Covenant advance force out of the city on Arcadia-II, then watched as half of the alien's fleet was decimated by Battle group _Normandy._

She was there when he was forced to call in another Shiva nuke on a city they had lost on the Massey colony. That time, she had hugged him, instead of the other way around.

They had shared foxholes on the frontlines. They had shed blood together. They had cracked morbid jokes in true blue soldier style, celebrated minor victories, suffered through terrible defeats. They had come to rely on one another on a level that surpassed friendship, which was different than that of lovers; it was a soldiers bond, if so dubious a term could be applied.

He picked up the picture and crashed onto his bunk, listening to the music spilling from the player on his desk. _"Steel Rain"_, by a long dead artist named Chris Cornell. Claire had introduced David to the artist's work during down time on the _Wolf's Sun_. Once he had returned to Reach, he had procured, furtively and with surprising difficulty, several music chips from old artists like Cornell, a British jazz singer named Sting, even a "hardcore rock band" named Papa Roach. It was an interesting change of pace from the Beethoven and Bach that Bristow had played when David was growing up.

The whiskey had mellowed him a bit; he wasn't drunk but relaxed. Meditatively, he pondered on the feeling of missing someone. It was alien to him, even more so than the Covenant, because he was exposed almost daily to the Covenant, while this feeling had just appeared out of the blue, with no rhyme or reason.

He briefly remembered the name 'Ambrose', remembered the feeling of loss connected with it, and the memories of dark streets and not enough food and Smiley, the masked thief who left him to die. But this feeling was different. This was one of affection.

He suddenly realized that this must be what it feels like for regular people, un-augmented non-super soldiers. This was a human feeling.

The irony of being mystified by a simple instinctual human emotion wasn't lost on David. He smiled briefly to himself.

"I'm glad to see your smiling." A voice from the doorway murmured.

David turned his head sideways on his pillow, smiling more broadly at the lean old man in the doorway. Even though it had been twenty ought years since Bristow had retired from the field, he was still silent on his feet, even able to sneak up on a Spartan.

David sat up. Something was wrong, he could tell. Bristow's face was grim, anxious, his cold gray eyes uncharacteristically emotional. "What is it, Bristow?"

The old man handed David a data pad. "I thought you might want to see this." His voice was hoarse, faint. "I received the news just now. No doubt it will hit the civilian channels by this evening."

David took the data pad with foreboding, feeling a growing sense of dread tighten in his gut. _What the hell is it…?_

But he knew. He had known, always known, since the day he had allowed Claire and Katy to call him by his given name. He looked at the data pad with a chill, the chill that comes from looking at a friend's grave, and it didn't help to know that that grave had always been there, waiting for his friend.

Waiting for…

He only read brief snatches of the report from ONI Recon-235: _"…non-UNSC space…debris field…lacked enough for positive identification…searing indicates Covenant anti-matter charges…UNSC Wolfs Sun…no survivors detected…"_

His eye twitched. He swallowed, trying to unclog his throat.

"…_no survivors detected…"_

Wordlessly, he handed the data pad back to Bristow. The old man laid a comforting hand on David's broad shoulder. "I'm sorry, David. I wish there was something…"

"Bristow." His voice sounded faraway in his own ears. "Don't, please."

The old man's eyes took on an emotion that looked almost like sorrow. "I thought you would want to hear it from me, before you inevitably heard it on less…personal, channels." He squeezed his shoulder and walked out of the room.

He sat on his bed, hunched forward, one immobile block of nerves and muscle. His mouth was slightly agape, but his breathing was so shallow that it barely registered. His eyes never blinked, the only movement was in his chest, where his heart pumped blood mindlessly, needlessly, without rhyme or reason.

Gradually he became aware that the world was trembling beneath his feet. No, that wasn't it; _he_ was trembling, not in any one area, but a massive quake emanating from his core to the very ends of his body. His hands shook like a palsied old mans and his lips trembled.

He glanced wildly to every corner of the room. _Where_, he thought through the growing polar numbness of his mind, _where did I put the exit to this house of horrors? Where's the brakes on this psychotic train? Where is the parachute on this free fall?_

_Nowhere, that's where._

He got up, stumbling, and stiff fingers groped for the letters on his desk, the pictures, the music player, everything. He shoved the entire bundle into the bottom drawer of his desk, smashing it down as much as he could, trying to fill the growing hole in his chest.

But no matter how hard he smashed, the hole wouldn't coalesce.

Finally he stopped, panting and trembling. Gently, he picked up the music player, reinserted the battery, and switched it on. He set it on his desk and fell back on his bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as music drifted through one ear and out the other.

_This will fade, _his mind argued with what little power it still had. _This won't last forever. This emptiness will either get filled up by rage or hate or it will simply go away in the face of more immediate matters. Even the most biting cold loss will lose its sharp edge. The cutters curse, to become accustomed to the knife. It is a phase, it will pass with time and distance and memory. You'll get over this._

His let his mind tell him that, but all the while, one thought kept replaying over and over in his head: _Claire's dead. I wasn't there. I failed. They're all gonna die. They're all gonna die._


	9. Chapter 6: Fallen

Chapter 6: Fallen

**[11 September 2551]**

**[Officers Quarters, UNSC **_**All Under Heaven**_**]**

**[1550 Hours]**

A loud knocking at the hatch roused Claire from her reverie. "Yes?" She called irritably.

"LT? We've exited Slipspace. 35 minutes out from Angelus-II."

"Thanks, Katy. Be out in five."

"Gotcha." The footsteps faded away, leaving Claire alone again. She sighed and tousled her hair.

They had picked up on the distress call while out on a routine recon. Angelus-II, a small colony in a remote part of the system, had come under siege from a Covenant detachment. Instead of glassing the planet, they had made landfall and invaded every populated area, looking for…_something. _No one ever knew what to expect from these aliens.

She got up from her seat and checked herself out in the mirror. _Touch of vanity, _her mind whispered.

"Shut up," she mumbled.

Not that there was much left to be vain about. The last three years hadn't exactly done Claire a whole lot of good. Oh sure, her raven hair was a bit longer, now just above her shoulders, and her cheeks had a bit more color to them, but in addition were a lot of lines under the green eyes that told their own story. A deep, badly healed scar on her cheek didn't help matters. And of course, the _piece de resistance…_

Claire examined the cybernetic contraption where her left hand once was. The wires and ceramic-titanium plating stretched like a series of islands from the end of her arm to the tip of her elbow, replacements for the chunks of flesh, muscle, and bone that she had lost to a random spike grenade back during the Hydra incursion when she was with TORN VICTOR.

The incident rang clear in her head: she and Katy in a foxhole, trying to suppress an entire pack of Brutes, when all of a sudden the damn explosive comes pin wheeling into the hole. Claire reacts instantly, grabs it, and just as she throws it, the piece of shit detonates, tearing right through her body armor and lacerating her arm to the bone. She had passed out from the blood loss, and awakened hours later to find she was short one hand of a full set. Katy had stayed by her side all afternoon while the compassionate Airman Dietrich had stitched her arm back together. When the sun set, David had arrived and spent the whole night talking with her to keep her mind off the pain. Claire smiled as she remembered how the Spartan had described the night.

_Nostalgia, that's how you'll remember this night._

_Oh, really? I thought nostalgia was a happy memory._

_No, its not. Nostalgia is a Latin derivative that means, literally, "pain from the old wounds". It's not happy, its bittersweet. It is more than a memory, it's a part of you that you can't let go, no matter how much you think you want to, because deep down, you really don't want to. I guess you can sum it up best by saying the best times in your memory were also the worst times._

And he was right, the damn poet-Spartan was right. Every time she thought back to that long night where she was driven half crazy by pain, she couldn't help but smile at it.

And of course, thinking of that long night brought back the memories of David himself, and that didn't help.

Claire and her squad had gone on a top secret assignment last January. They were declared MIA last September. They were declared KIA in December, after a passing ONI patrol found the remains of the _Wolf's Sun. _

The truth was this: they had been on a top secret assignment. While en route to the target area, they had come under fire from a Covenant patrol. The crew had abandoned ship, but Captain Rousseau, the old stubborn Frenchman, had staunchly opted to remain on board. He went down with his ship, taking a Covenant cruiser with him.

The crew had landed on an uncharted planet near-by. The Covenant had followed them. They began waging a bloody guerilla war against one another.

Turns out, they were not alone.

On the morning of the third day, Lieutenant Matthew Keller, Claire's ex-friend, ex-boyfriend, and relative ONI psycho killer, showed up at the human camp. He informed them that, contrary to popular belief, everything was going according to plan.

He received a less than enthusiastic welcome.

He informed them that they were testing a new WMD for the UNSC. Codename NOVA, it was dubbed a planet killer. The testing ground was the planet they were on. All they needed to do was steal a Covenant ship (conveniently, there was a ship docked for repairs planet-side) deploy the warhead, and bug out before the thing detonated.

No easier said than done.

What followed was a dizzying and bloody romp across the planet as they stole the ship, deployed the nuke, and watched from space as the NOVA warhead erased the planet from existence. One medium sized Covenant fleet patrol: neutralized.

And that was just the first week.

Claire and the rest of the surviving crew members of the _Wolfs Sun_ were taken to Reach. Claire was promoted to Lieutenant, placed in charge of an entire platoon, and assigned a new deployment. After two months of leave (yes, she had saved up that much vacation time) and two months training with her new outfit, she joined the crew of the _All Under Heaven_ and reverted back to the shipboard lifestyle she was accustomed to.

Only one problem: David was gone. Just as she had resurfaced and returned to the land of the living, he had disappeared. She couldn't ask anyone where he was because honestly, even if someone knew where a high-spec ONI assassin had scampered off to, would they actually tell a junior ODST officer? Nuh-uh. Worse still, because she was still technically "dead" (something she was having a surprising amount of trouble undoing) there was no way she could communicate with him, not by mail, not by anything. He could be in a deep cover operation in hostile space, he could be a prisoner of war just like Matt was, he could be dead…the horrors of being legally dead were nothing in comparison to not knowing where a trusted friend was in the whole goddamn galaxy.

With one last sigh, Claire tied her hair back into a pony tail, adjusted her uniform, and exited the officer's quarters, making her way to the bridge. She quickly caught up with a familiar blonde head, and smiled. "Good afternoon, Sergeant Rawlings."

Katy smiled back, the scar on her chin stretching. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant Avalos. How are you today?"

"Pissed that a certain non-com interrupted my precious 'me' time. I'd strip her of her rank, except that she was the best damn soldier in my entire platoon."

Katy snorted. "Get stuffed. I thought Sugar was your best."

Staff Sergeant Carlos "Sugar" Chigurh was Claire's platoon sergeant and her right hand man in the field. A Hispanic ODST of medium height and build, he was quiet, intense man with a high moral standing and a penchant for speaking his mind and not caring who hears it. As such, he was frequently denied OCS training, despite exemplary marks in the field and a few notable accolades. Along with all that, he was an insufferable flirt, a regular Casanova who spent most of his off-duty hours sweet talking various crew members of the fairer sex. This had earned him the dubious nickname "Sugar".

"I thought Sugar was your best too, Katy."

Katy shrugged the comment off, but a slight tinge of red hinted at her cheeks. "He's nice," she said, partially subdued.

"So let's leave it at that. Agreed?"

"Agreed. I'm going to head down to the armory, get outfitted. You going to see the Commander?"

"Yep. I'll meet you in the armory. Oh, and make sure to-"

"Cadge an Automag from the gun boss, I know, I know." Katy shook her head. "I never knew you to be so attached to a weapon, Claire."

It wasn't attachment. It was more like loyalty to a friend.

Claire entered the bridge two minutes later. She nodded to a few of the deck officers, and saluted the Hispanic woman wearing the uniform of a ship commander. "Commander Rios, m'am."

Lieutenant Commander Elena Rios, CO of the _All Under Heaven_, returned the salute. "Lieutenant Avalos." She returned her attention to the view screen before her. "Domovoi, brief the Lieutenant on the current situation."

The former AI of the _Wolfs Sun_ sprang up from the nearby holo-port. "In a word, Lieutenant, desperate. The Covenant task force is small, half a dozen frigates with one cruiser, but by my calculations, they've deployed roughly three thousand troops groundside and are now occupying eighty-two percent of all populated area's on the planet."

Claire crossed her arms across her chest as she studied the diagrams on the view screen. "Occupation? That's not the Covenant's style."

"Their battle net was loosely encrypted, very easy to hack. It appears they are searching for something."

"What?"

"Well, if I knew that, I would have told you first, wouldn't I?"

"Alright, true. So, what can you tell me?"

"We've had intermittent contact with UNSC forces from the planet's local garrison. Covenant own most of the cities, but it hasn't been an easy fight. Specifically, in this city," the city in question glowed bright blue, "Romagna. Reports indicate that the advance into the city has been slowed and even halted by guerilla attacks."

Claire whistled appreciatively. "Any idea why?"

"Troop reports speak of one soldier in particular. The translations rough, but the Covenant refer to him as a 'Demon'."

Commander Rios furrowed her brow. "'Demon'? I've heard that before. It's what the Covenant refer to Spartans as."

Claire smiled. "Figures. The Covenant must be really scared of the Spartans."

"While sketchy, reports indicate that this one Spartan alone is responsible for over one hundred troops KIA."

"That doesn't explain why the Covenant are invading in the first place, or what they're looking for."

"Perhaps the Spartan can answer your questions, Lieutenant." Domovoi said calmly.

Commander Rios stepped in. "You're platoon is spearheading the reinforcements. Straight drop, one pass over Romagna, directly into the inner city. Once on the ground, I want you to link up with this Spartan and his guerilla fighters. Drive the Covenant out. Take the city back."

Claire nodded. "Sounds fine by me, but with all due respect Commander, the Covenant ships aren't going to just sit by while you drop us off."

Commander Rios matched Claire's dubious look with a calm, detached gaze. "I fully realize that. I've already radioed for reinforcements; elements from the 4th Fleet are already en route and will be here within the hour." She favored the Lieutenant with a small smile. "I assure you, Avalos, I've faced worse odds. I suggest you start worrying about your own assignment."

Six on one with no reinforcements. Claire was starting to see how the Commander earned the nickname "Wonder Woman".

"Understood m'am."

The Commander shook Claire's hand. "Good luck down there, Lieutenant."

"Likewise, Commander."

Claire walked out of the bridge chewing her lip.

In the air, six ships on one frigate. On the ground, one undersized ODST battalion versus thousands of entrenched Covenant forces.

It might turn out to be worse than the Hydra incursion. Maybe.

**Two hours earlier…**

**[11 September 2551]**

**[ONI Site Victor Charlie]**

"They've breached the perimeter! Covenant Spec-Ops are inside the building and closing fast!"

"Talk to me, Jen. Has the system been purged?"

"Five more minutes, LT."

"Negative. We don't have that time."

He slams his fist onto the drive, forcibly drawing the data crystal from its locked position.

"Fuck! LT, there's still kilobytes of data in there-"

He draws his Automag and empties the clip into the drive. Sparks fly and the screen goes black.

"I'm initiating Cole's Protocol."

"What article of it!"

"I'll tell you as soon as I found out. Lee?"

"Sir!"

"Those charges we found in the armory. How long to prime them?"

"Depends. How much time to we have?"

"You have three minutes before this place becomes Covenant central. That enough?"

"…"

"Well?"

A different voice, nervous and high pitched. "Uh, sir? Sergeant Lee ran off to get demo charges. You need something?"

"No." He reloads his Automag, tosses Jen her suppressed SMG. "Let's go. If we can make it to the garage and the remaining Hogs, we can make it back in time to share a shower and a meal together."

She smiles ironically as she places on her helmet. "You're always such a sweet talker."

"Don't get used to it."

They race through the corridors, bypassing empty offices and trashed rooms. They practically fly down the stairs and finally reach the garage. Lee and three marines are carefully placing demo charges on the concrete pillars that hold the entire building up. Lee notices him and Jen and motion towards them. "Two demo charges on each pillar, enough explosives to blow us back to the Stone Age."

"I'm more hoping to blow the Covenant back to the Stone Age." He waves to the dozen or so Marines and motions to the three Troop Transport Hogs in the corner. "Mount up! We're out of here."

The soldiers pile in. Lee punches the button on the massive garage doors. Sunlight floods the dark underground passage, illuminating the blackness. Lee pauses as he picks up his gear from the ground. He is staring at something towards the rear of the garage. "Sir…?"

A trio of plasma bolts erupt from thin air, catching Lee in the chest. He slumps to the ground against a pillar, clutching at his gear and gasping.

"LEE!"

Covenant armored in space black armor come pouring down the entrance from above, firing plasma and yelling in their strange alien tongues. He crouches against his own pillar, firing his MA5C against the advancing horde.

"LT! Is Lee dead? Is he dead…?"

"Jen, get on the Hog. Get back to base. That Covenant can't get to that data!"

"LT…!"

"Go! Now! I'll cover you!"

Eyes stricken behind her visor, Jen sprints to the last Hog and jumps on board as they skid out of there.

"LT…" Lee cries over the comm.

"Sergeant, stay down!"

With a wrenching heave Lee hurls the demo charge he had been holding straight into the Covenant, and mashes down on the detonator. An enormous explosion rocks the underground hold, and the roof partially collapses. The Covenant are buried under the rubble.

He erupts from his cover and cradles the dying Spartan-III in his arms. The boy's helmet had fallen free, and his eyes are stricken. He's convulsing, locked in death's grips. He turns his gaze to him.

"F-fatal, isn't…isn't it?"

He nods gravely. "It is."

Lee gulps, gasping for air. "You…you shouldn't have s-stayed for me, LT. Sh-should have left, saved your own luh…life…"

"Maybe I figured my life wasn't worth saving if you or Jen weren't there to back me up."

Lee smiles. "B-bad karma, to talk about yah-your life that way, sir."

"You know I don't believe in that shit."

Lee smiles, painfully. "I wish I did." His eyes look in the middle distance. "I hope…I hope there's something more than stars and…and planets out there. I hope…augh…I hope there's something after this…I'd like to believe there's a heaven…that there's s-something more than this…"

Footsteps echo as chattering aliens swarm the ruined garage, begin to disarm the charges. He takes no notice as he watches Lee look into the middle distance, watch the life leave his eyes. He gently closes them. There was nothing more to be said.

A huge shadow looms over him. He looks up, smiles terribly at the ring of hard, ugly alien faces looking down at him.

"What took you so long?"

A space-black Elite lifts it's size twenty four hoof, bringing it down on his temple.

Quite suddenly, he finds the floor.

**[11 September 2551]**

**[Angelus Orbit]**

**[1630 Hours]**

The temperature inside the drop pod was quivering at the one hundred mark. Beads of sweat trickled down Claire's face as alternately cursed the pod and prayed that its rickety frame would hold together.

The comm. crackled to life, and Sugar's voice echoed over the channel. "1st, 2nd, and 3rd squad are in tight formation. 4th is loose, adjust trajectory, adjust, Sergeant Weeks!"

"Negative, Sugar. I'll compensate when the chute opens. Right now I'm not giving those Covenant fighters any juicy targets."

Claire pressed her hand to her ear. "Sugar, cut the chatter! Radio silence until we are groundside, understood?"

"Roger." He responded resolutely.

There was a burst of light as Charlie company, visible as a cluster of shiny dots on the sides of Claire's pod, broke away from the main formation and adjusted trajectory. Their target was Venezia, an occupied city situated on an archipelago roughly twenty clicks from her own drop zone.

_One company per city…_They would be stretched thin. Claire was already thinking her own job would be easy. Link up with the Spartan and his group, assist them in clean up.

She glanced briefly at her altitude gauge, and gripped the chute release. "Delta Platoon, on my mark. Three…two…one…mark!"

There was a sudden jerk as the chute caught the air in the atmosphere and the platoon's descent slowed.

All except for one pod at the edge of the formation. "Sergeant Weeks, deploy secondary chute!"

"Both are compromised. Can't control descent. No, no, NOOOO!"

Claire shut the channel off to stop the trooper's screams from ringing in her ear. The unspoken fear that gnawed at every ODST had just claimed another victim.

In her view screen, the city below grew larger and larger. The chute ripped, and Claire's heart leapt into her mouth as the air whistled past. The entire pod began to shudder, growing in crescendo until it broke with an earth shattering crash as Claire hit the middle of a wide open overpass. The opening hatch snapped off, and she emerged with her Assault Rifle raised.

Not fifty feet from her, a trio of Grunts and a single Jackal began assembling into battle positions. She hurled a grenade into the group, killing two Grunts right off the bat, and hosed the remaining aliens with automatic fire until they fell too. A thin smile touched her lips at the sloppiness of the Covenant troops.

Thundering crashes resonated as pods landed on the overpass and surrounding buildings. Katy emerged from hers, waved to Claire, and tapped her helmet. Claire keyed her comm. "You clear?"

"No contacts in the vicinity. Any eyes on Sugar?"

"What, worried about me Rawlings?" Sugar waved from where he had landed on a building nearby.

Claire smiled. "Sergeant Chigurh, get your ass down here. Assemble the platoon and let's start moving out."

"Roger, I'm…hang on, we've got contacts! Fast movers directly below you. They're closing in!"

"Helljumper's, on me!" Claire's mind raced. "Collins, get that SPNKR ready! Hudson, what's your twenty?"

"I hit a roof, LT. I'm setting up sniper cover now. Got eyes on the bogies, and they're…friendlies?"

There was a deep bellied roar as a single Warthog LRV skidded onto the overpass and ground to a halt in front of Claire. In the passenger seat, a tired looking Marine with a grimy, sweaty face stood up and saluted. "Sergeant Bridger, 224th Marine Battalion out of Romagna. We saw your pods come down. I'm guessing you're the reinforcements?"

Claire returned the salute and rattled off her rank and outfit. "I'm guessing you're the resistance?"

Sergeant Bridger smirked humorlessly. "Eh, what's left? We got about two hundred Marines and civilian fighters holed up in an inner city tram tunnel two clicks thataway," he said, jerking his thumb behind him. "We were out on patrol when we saw you guys coming down." He cocked his head. "One platoon, huh?"

"One crisis, one platoon." Claire said shortly. "Now are we supposed to just tag behind you while you lead us to your base, or are you offering a lady a ride?"

Sugar laughed loudly and abundantly over the comm. as he struggled down to ground level. Sergeant Bridger shrugged. "I guess you'll have to follow, m'am. LRV's aren't really built to accommodate platoon sized loads."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock. So please, lead on." Claire waved her arm.

The Sergeant nodded slowly and sat back down as the LRV around. "Let's try to move fast. Covenant is all over this sector."

"Boy, someone's in a bad mood." Katy muttered over the private comm. chatter.

"He's just doing his job."

"Not Bridger over there, you. You usually have to know someone personally to insult them like that, LT."

"Noted." Claire muttered dryly as she adjusted the free plan of grenades on her equipment bandolier. "Now, unless you want to give me a full blown psychological assessment here, I suggest you stop running your mouth and start running your legs. Are we clear, Katy?"

"Yes m'am." Katy muttered, half to herself.

Any Covenant watching the back streets of Romagna would have been treated to the strange sight of a platoon of heavily armed and armored human shock troopers' double timing behind a snail paced Warthog. If the aliens had any sense of humor, they would have been rendered helpless with laughter at the sight. _Let em laugh_, Claire thought. _They won't be laughing when they're staring down the business end of an Assault Rifle. Mine, Katy's, Sugar's, the Spartan's…let em laugh._

Finally, after a mile or so, the Hog paused at what appeared to be a ruined façade of a tram way station. Bridger keyed his headset. "This is Hog Patrol 01. Oly oly oxen free."

Four soldiers, two armed with Battle Rifles and two with Rocket Launchers, emerged from discreet hiding places in the ruins. "Hold on. What'd you drag back with you, Bridger?"

Claire stepped forward. "He dragged back your reinforcements, Marine. Unless, of course, you've got the situation well in hand. If that's the case then my platoon will just jump ourselves back to our ship and take off…"

"Alright, alright, jeez! I'm just doing my job here!" Grumbling, the abashed Marine motioned to his compatriots and disappeared. Some of the rubble shifted as a metal plate, ingeniously covered with debris for camouflage, was dragged away, exposing a large sized entrance into the base. Claire glanced towards Bridger. The Sergeant motioned forward. "Go on in. There's a separate entrance for vehicles around back. Catch ya later, Lieutenant."

Claire shook her head as the vehicle skidded up dirt and barreled away, then waved forward her platoon. "C'mon. Let's see what the situation is."

The situation, for lack of a better description, was bad.

The close fitting passage funneled the platoon through a dimly lit corridor and spilled out into a tram way platform that stretched for miles in either direction. A few portable generators provided heat and light, illuminating the hundreds of dirty faces that were sitting or standing on and around the platform. Over unwashed cheeks sunken eyes would glance at the newcomers, sometimes flashing with strange intensity, other times with dull misery. Most were Marines decked out in various degrees of battle armor, from full combat suits to only a vest and a bandanna. Some, however, were civilians, clad in amalgams of armor and street clothes, wielding everything from MA5 assault rifles to DTM law enforcement shotguns.

Claire removed her helmet and looked around. She began speaking quietly. "Lambert, start checking these people out, prioritize them by injuries. Collins, Harlow, talk with those Marines, see what kind of supplies they're working with." She looked around and grabbed hold of the nearest non com she could see. "Corporal, who's in charge here?"

The weary eyed Corporal pointed towards the back. "The Captain is. Good luck trying to talk to him, though. Fucker's true-blue Section Eight."

Impatience reared its ugly head. "Well if he's Section Eight then why is he in charge?"

"Cause he's ONI."

Claire must have conveyed surprise, because the Corporal laughed, a wheezing cough. "Surprised? Jeez, you really have no idea what's going on, do you?"

She narrowed her eyes. "How about you enlighten me then, Corporal?" She shoved him towards the direction he pointed. "C'mon. Make the introductions with your Captain."

The Corporal sighed and led her towards the back. A single bare bulb hung over a collapsible table. A lean, rangy man, dressed in dark ONI Recon armor, was leaning over the table, poring over papers and reports. The Corporal cleared his throat. "Eh, sir? Our relief has arrived. This is…" he looked back at Claire in vexation, realizing he had failed to ask her name.

It didn't seem to matter to the Captain. "Lieutenant Claire Avalos of the 105th ODST Division doesn't require an introduction here, certainly not from the likes from you." He said in a breezy voice.

Claire drew a sharp intake of breath. The ONI Captain swiveled with the light to his back. Calm, detached blue eyes studied her. "Nor do I need to be introduced to a woman I used to know intimately."

Claire folded her arms. "Charming as ever, Matthew. It'd be even more charming if that was the first time I'd heard it."

"O-o-oh, so it was charming to begin with? And hear I was thinking that your last good-bye of 'I hope we never have to meet again in this whole goddamn galaxy, Matthew' indicated you thought otherwise?"

Claire refused the bait; that "nuclear test" with Matt had long made her accustomed to his new found existential speech patterns.

"I guess it was my fault then. I should have known this galaxy was too small for the both of us. Now, I came here to relieve you guys. Are you going to fill me in, or are we going to bicker like an old married couple all afternoon?"

"Ladies choice." Matt waved his arms in a chivalrous gesture.

Claire moved closer, shuffling through the papers that Matt had been previously studying. "Then the lady chooses to get the run-down on the situation."

"Hmmm, much more assertive this time around, Claire. David would hardly recognize you the way you are."

Claire's hands froze on a pile of inventory reports.

_ Of course, _she thought, _one Spartan on the ground? ONI here as well? Stupid, Claire, stupid, stupid…_

She tried to control her response. "He's here?"

"Was here."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly how it sounds, sweetheart. Here yesterday, gone today. Like a little predator bird, he moved on."

Claire suddenly whirled around and slammed Matt against the wall. He was still a good six inches above her, she still managed to bear him down. "Where…is…he?" She grated.

Matt eyed her with disinterest. "We landed as soon as the Covenant showed up. They detected our ship and blew it out of the sky, then cut off interstellar communications. There were four of us: David, Lee, Jennifer, and myself. Once it became clear the Covenant were invading instead of barbecuing, we made our way inner city and began organizing what Marine forces we could."

"I need more information. I need to know what the Covenant are looking for. I need to know why you're here. And I want to know where David went."

"I've no idea what the local Covies are searching for. They've been razing superstructures with ultra heavy weapons platforms and killing anyone too stupid to move out of their way. As for why were here: Cole Protocol."

"Cole Protocol?"

"Yep."

"What article?"

"Pfff…don't bore me with details. Details and plans slow things down when they need to accelerated to warp speed. This is the situation. Its catalyst is bombs, gasoline, det-cord, and nuclear fire."

"Where?" She snarled. Her fingers curled into claws, clutching at his uniform.

"ONI Site Victor Charlie, five clicks to the southwest. It contains a data vault that would be an unfortunate gold mine if certain aliens got a hold of it. I would destroy the site after flushing the system while David organized things here. But as you can probably tell, our roles were switched."

"Is he alright?"

"He left at dawn with Lee, Jen, and a dozen or so Marines. He reported in on half hour intervals and assured me he'd bee back by noon."

Claire's heart froze. David was the consummate professional. If he said he would be back by noon, he would be, on the dot. But if he wasn't…

"Most likely he's dead. Scorched by Covies plasma or captured by Covies or trapped at Victor Charlie and decided to go down in flames. I wouldn't be surprised, the depression he's been in lately." Something like curiosity flitted across the glacial blue eyes. "When you were declared dead, he became a machine. Nothing but focused muscle and nerve. Didn't care how much danger there was, didn't care if he didn't come back, just cared about how much blood he spilled. Didn't even care if it wasn't Covenant blood. Just wanted to inflict as much pain on the galaxy as he was feeling in his chest."

Claire shuddered. A thousand thoughts were racing through her head. Finally she looked up. "Give me exact coordinates. I'm going."

"No chance. David may be borderline suicidal, but sloppy he was never. That building does not exist anymore."

"You're pretty calm considering your only friend might not exist anymore." She spat.

"Friend is a generous term. After our little encounter he barely tolerated the sight of me. I was usually gone, so it didn't really matter." Matt twisted out of her grip and rubbed his collarbone. "You should be thanking me, you know. I allowed him to go to on without me, despite my anxious pleas to the contrary. With any luck, he's finally found the peace in his death he couldn't find in the wake of your death."

A red haze filled Claire's vision. But before she could even begin the massacre, a stricken voice echoed from the tunnel. "Captain!"

A bloodied figure, a miniature Spartan, stumbled to a halt. She had pulled off her helmet, revealing short blonde hair cut in a fringe above the nape of her neck and red rimmed brown eyes. "Captain, we retrieved the data crystal. The Lieutenant and Lee stayed behind to cover us."

Matt paid no mind to the Spartans babbling as he took the data crystal from her. "They were still alive when you left?"

"Yes, sir."

Matt turned to Claire. "You're really willing to risk your life to chase down a man that might already be dead?"

Claire grit her teeth. "He'd do the same for me."

"Then go. Take a team, a Hog, find them if you can. Once your topside, you're on your own."

Claire picked up her helmet and adjusted her assault rifle. "I'll find him." She turned to leave. Instantly the diminutive Spartan Jennifer besieged her. "LT, request permission to tag along."

Claire eyed the girl; she was an inch or so shorter than Claire herself. Her eyes were weary but determined. "Welcome aboard, Corporal."

Jennifer smiled and put her helmet back on.

Within ten minutes Claire had shifted command of the platoon over to Sugar, briefed Claire and two other soldiers on the situation, and were thundering through the silent streets in a Troop Transport Hog, upgraded with crudely welded armor plates.

Claire sat at the wheel. Her hardened eyes focused solely on the road.

Nothing else mattered now; not her previous assignment, not the battle in the stars overhead, or the urban warzone all around her. None of it even bordered on important in her mind.

_Hold on David. We're coming._

**[11 September 2551]**

**[ONI Site Victor Charlie]**

**[1705 Hours]**

Contemplation was the only thing running through David's head as he sat, head lolling, tied to a metal chair in a lower level office surrounded by whispering aliens.

Contemplation.

Where had it all gone wrong? How had it come to this, where he didn't care whether he lived or died? When did he wake up, look in the mirror, and see a ghost of himself staring back?

Claire had happened. The petite ODST had cut through his mental armor and found a person underneath it. He had allowed himself to be that vulnerable, knowing full well how it would end. _And then she died,_ he thought almost accusingly, _she died, and a part of me died with her. Goddamnit…_

"Wake up." An armored claw slapped him across the cheek, drawing fresh blood. David responded by hocking a blood laced loogie at the Elite's now familiar hooves.

"Regards from my aching head, you bastard."

Behind them, a bulging Brute chortled happily.

The Elite, in turn, landed an uppercut that forced David's head up painfully. He smiled to himself. _Inexperienced, this one. Likes the bloodshed a little too much. No control, easy to get under his skin. _David found himself staring into a pair of narrow hard brown eyes, sunk deep into bluish gray skin.

The Elite spoke slowly, his words being translated through the built-in translator in David's armor. "Understand this, Demon. Your sole purpose for living now is to relinquish the location of your brethren. When you do- and you will, not matter how strong your courage may be- we will destroy them, and you will die."

David shook his head pityingly. "See, you just made your second mistake. Once you tell a hostage that he's going to die, you've taken away any incentive to be cooperative."

The Elite's eyes glowed with barely controlled hate. His raspy voice was condescending. "And, pray tell, what was our first mistake?"

"Your first mistake was taking me alive at all." He looked up into the alien face only inches from his. "You bastards killed my friends. You've taken away pretty much everything I've ever cared about. That's the worse thing you can do."

"Why is that?"

"The most dangerous opponent is one who's not afraid of death." David looked up into the harsh light of the bulb above him. "Just so you know."

The Elite cuffed him soundly, swearing at him in his alien language. David coughed, spitting up blood. He looked up again. "Did I…do something…to you…personally…?" He turned his head and sneezed blood. "Cause I'm starting to think…that you…have a particular hatred…for me."

The Elite glared, mandibles flaring. He clicked them, an equivalent to a shrug. "You killed a friend of mine."

David licked his lips, trying to clear the blood. "I've killed a lot of Elites. You're going to have to be more specific…"

With a roar, the Elite slammed his fist into David's abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. David coughed, painfully.

"Iras!" The Elite snapped viciously. "Iras Peccamee! Don't tell me you don't know his name, because by the Great Rings he knew yours!"

David coughed once more, then shook his head and looked up. "You were a friend of his?"

"Yes, Demon, I was."

"He talked about me?"

"All he would talk about!" The Elite spat angrily.

David looked at him curiously. "Funny…he never mentioned…you. Who are you?"

"Sev Rolamee." The Spec-Ops elite growled quietly. "Iras was my mentor."

_Anger issues, check, _David thought. _Daddy issues, check. Emotionally compromised, check._

As if voicing these thoughts, the Brute behind him slapped him in the back of the head and snarled at Sev, "Get on with it Sev. The Scarab will be deployed sooner than not. Whatever we need from this crypt had better be in our hands by then.

_Scarab? Ah, that complicates things a bit._

"Silence your tongue, Gracchus, or I will remove it with my own blade!" The Elite roared.

"Hahah, I'd like to see you try, you incompetent lizard…."

Sev's eyes bulged in rage. David chose the moment to act. "Uh, hello, Demon still strapped down here?"

The mad gleaming eyes turned towards him. "What?"

David sighed. "If you were Iras's protégé, then you should know he was a cold blooded maniac who killed a lot of innocent people. I'm just saying…"

The Elite took one step forward and raked David's cheek with his sharp claws. He felt wet blood stain his neck. "Ouch. You should really learn to control that temper of yours Sev. Otherwise you might accidentally kill me, and then you'll get nothing of use."

Sev grabbed him by the neck. "Iras was a proud warrior, cleansing the stars of your parasitic race. He was like a father to me. And he was killed by an unworthy human in a special suit…"

David smiled sweetly. "He was a cold blooded killer just like me. And if you think he was killed by an unworthy opponent, then he clearly didn't tell you about all those times we tangled and called it a draw. Ever wonder how he lost his eye or his lower mandible?" He feinted shock at the widening of the young Elite's eyes. "What? He never told you it was me? For him being like a father to you, he obviously didn't trust you or care enough about you to tell you…."

Sev said nothing as his claw tightened around David's neck. David continued, undeterred by his dropping air supply. "The truth is, Sev Rolamee, is that I probably knew your precious 'father' better than you ever wished you could. The truth is he probably thought more of me as an opponent than he ever thought of you as a 'son'. The truth is that he cared more about me than he ever did about you, which is why you hate the very thought of me. So go ahead," he gasped as his larynx began to tighten, "make my day."

The Elite's eyes gleamed madly. "With pleasure, David."

Gracchus the Brute grabbed Sev's arm. "Damn you, you bastard!" He shoved the Spec-Ops Elite away. "He wants you to kill him. Your commander would prefer you did not." He glanced at David, and suddenly landed a blow that toppled David over onto the floor. Blood streaked saliva seeped out of the corner of his mouth.

The Brute stood over the human. "Well, I can't kill you, but I can do everything but."

"Oh, can you?" David muttered.

"I can." He reached a mitt sized paw for him.

In the small room, the plasma pistol sounded as loud as M6D Pistol. The Brute, minus most of his face, toppled to the side. David had enough time to register shock in the beasts one remaining eye before it landed to his right.

Sev stood over the body. His chest was heaving, his plasma pistol was emptying excess heat from its core. "I told you to stay silent Gracchus."

David glanced from Elite to dead Brute. "Hmm, shooting one of your comrades. He was right: you _are_ incompetent."

The Elite turned his attention to David, madness still shining in his eyes. He tossed the pistol aside and his Energy Sword from his belt. With one whoosh, he cut through the energy bonds holding him in place, David collapsed to the floor, unconsciously stretching his cramped legs.

"GET UP!" Sev roared. "Get up, Demon, and prepare to meet your fate! You are about to find out what happens when you give an Elite a reason to kill!"

"Really?" he croaked. "Well, you're about to find out why you never untie prisoners with only one guard in the room."

Leaping away and to his feet, David yanked a Plasma Pistol off the dead Brute's belt. Mashing down on the trigger, he allowed a glowing gob of plasma to gather at the muzzle, then discharged it straight at the Elite.

The bolt hit the surprised Elite, destroying his shields and burning a hole in his armor. The Elite stumbled and cried out in pain.

By the time he looked back up, David was gone.

The Spartan tore through the darkened halls, plasma pistol clutched in one hand, helmet in the other. Blood seeped from various cuts and sores, covering his face and even getting into his eyes. He wiped them clean with hands that shook from exhaustion.

He ran into a pack of Grunts, black armored veterans that nonetheless squeaked in fear at the sight of him. He took out the first by slamming his helmet into its skull, crushing it. The other two he hosed down with plasma fire. Pausing to pick up a second plasma pistol, he continued his tortured race through the complex.

_The garage…have to get to the garage…_

But what was the point? Escape, then try to get back to base? Get ready for the Scarab? But what for? To defend a planet that had no hope at all? To protect a species that held no love for him at all? To fulfill Bristow's instructions, "Never Yield"?

_Face it, _he thought numbly as he ran, _the only thing keeping you going is that old saw "Never Yield". You're already dead, you're a corpse waiting to be sent back to its grave. So why not stand my ground, take on this psychopath Elite, go down in a blaze of glory?_

_ Never Yield, that's why._

He clambered over rubble into the entrance of the garage just as the inhuman roar reached his ears.

"DEEEEEMMMMMOOOOONNNNN!"

A gang of Covenant regulars, Elites, Grunts, and Jackals were gathered in the area, apprehensive at the sound of that call. David decided to take advantage of their indecision.

The first Grunt looked up just in time to catch a face full of MJOLNIR helmet. The Elite standing next to him didn't have time to react as the Spartan closed distance, twisted the Carbine in the alien's claws, and shoved the barrel under the creatures chin. _Pew!_ The high speed radioactive round punched a neat hole through the Elites cobalt helmet, killing it instantly.

David spun in a circle, firing his borrowed Carbine with one hand while his other hand swung his helmet in long, brutal blows that sent Grunts toppling and snapped Jackal's necks. He caved in one unfortunate alien's skull, put two Carbine rounds through a second Elites helmet, grabbed a crouched Jackal and hurled him into the air, pumping round after round into him as he flew.

A terrible roar sounded nearby, and David swiveled, crouched, and brought his Carbine to bear, just in time to parry the blow that Sev was about to land. The crazed Elite had somehow doubled back and leapt off an overturned Warthog to deal a killing blow with his Energy Sword. He only succeeded in slicing David's Carbine in half.

David rolled away and came up with two borrowed Plasma Pistol's in his hands, their muzzles glowing with overcharged bolts. _Zing! Zing! _The superheated energy hit Sev like hammer blows, in his shoulder, in his leg, forcing him to one knee. He cried out in pain and struggled to rise.

David fired a single bolt that hit the Elite's claw, forcing him to drop his energy sword. Sev looked up, eyes no longer shining with madness, but dulled with bleak misery. It was the face of a soldier facing a firing squad, resigned to his fate.

Quite suddenly dizziness engulfed David. He fell to his own knees, his breathing hitched and uneven. He felt the first indications of faintness setting in. Blood Loss City; he must have lost a lot more hemoglobin than he realized. He dropped the pistol in his left hand and trained the weapon in his right on the wounded Elite in front of him. His eyes dropped to the deactivated energy sword between them.

"You wanna…go for it, Sev boy? I can see it in your eyes…you're thinking about it." He murmured.

The Elite bared his mandibles in a look of what must have been defiance. "Kill me, Demon, but don't waste my time with talk."

There was little energy left in the Plasma Pistol, only enough for maybe one shot. David could feel the trigger on his fore finger. One little squeeze and the Elite would fall with a hole in his head, never to rise again.

_Never Yield…_

David could hear voices, far off, along with the roar of a vehicles engine. The room was spinning all around him. The Elite in front of him looked blurry around the edges, as if he were looking at him through a foggy window. He coughed up blood, reeling like a drunk. He could hear the Elite's breathing, fast and heavy with…fear?

The pistol slipped out of his numb fingers and clattered to the ground. He fell back on his haunches, blood dripping from his wounds. The Elite stared at him, eyes disbelieving.

"Get the hell out of here." David croaked.

The Elite stared at him for a few seconds more, his face inscrutable, then, turning as if he heard something, got up with difficulty and began half limping, half running, activating his cloak as he went. Within five seconds David was alone in the semi-darkness of the garage.

The Spartan fell to his side, the cool concrete kissing his burning wounds. His helmet lay a few feet off. His eyes were cloudy with exhaustion and faintness. He coughed up blood, almost choking on it. The light began fading, the pain was starting to disappear.

"Claire…" he breathed. "I'm on my way."

Lee's words rang in his ears. _I hope…there's something after this…_

_ I hope so too._

"David?"

He could almost hear her voice now. Another few moments, and it would be all over. A thin smile crept over David's bloodstained mouth.

"David?"

Wait, that sounded too close…

Boots clattered over concrete as several people came rushing towards him. He felt gloved hands roll him over onto his back. A ring of dark helmets with reflective visors surrounded him.

"David…"

One of the helmets came off, revealing beautiful, pale features, raven dark hair tied back into a ponytail, and emerald green eyes frantically searching his face.

He was dead. This was a hallucination that acted as a transition to the afterlife. This had to be…

"David…" she whispered, and he felt a gloved hand clutch his armored gauntlet. A real, live gloved hand.

This wasn't a hallucination.

He blinked and opened his eyes fully. "You're…supposed to be dead," he gurgled.

Claire Avalos smiled through the tears gathering in her eyes. "That makes two of us, then."

**[11 September 2551]**

**[ONI Site Victor Charlie]**

**[1720 Hours]**

"I can't believe this…"

"Start believing. Anybody have any water?"

One of the ODSTs handed him a canteen. The water felt cool and sweet against his parched and bloody throat. He drank half and splashed the rest on his face, trying to shake the blood off.

Claire laid a hand on his shoulder. "Here, try this." She took a scrap of cloth from one of her pouches and gently began wiping away the blood. He winced.

"I barely touched you."

"Yeah, yeah, gently, gently, please."

"Hold still." She managed to clean away the worst of the grime. She paused on the cuts. "My god…"

"Its not as bad as it looks." He grunted, and turned away. "You still haven't explained much."

"There's not much to explain."

"Besides the fact that you are listed KIA along with the rest of the _Wolfs Sun_?"

"That…tell you what, lets get out of here in one piece, and I'll give you the full story. Deal?"

"Fine." He stood up and was about to pull on his helmet when Jen pushed through the rest.

"LT!" She stopped short when he looked up. She had taken off her own helmet and her eyes went wide.

David grinned. "Jen…please, stop staring. You're making me blush."

She said nothing as she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. The ODSTs shifted and looked away. Claire arched her eyebrow.

"Lee's dead." He whispered into her ear.

"I know. I picked up his ID tag."

David hung his head. "I'm sorry."

"Isn't your fault." She murmured.

"Yeah, well, it feels like it is."

"I told you to stop that."

"A Sergeant giving a Lieutenant orders? That's not the way it works." He shifted uncomfortably. "Jen, c'mon, you're making the Helljumper's nervous." He pushed her away, albeit gently.

The smaller Spartan's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, you're right."

Claire cleared her throat. "We should probably think about leaving, huh?"

David shook his head as he donned his helmet. "Not yet. We have to reset these demolition charges to knock this building down…" he motioned around the pillars.

"That's right. You came here to enforce Cole Protocol. What increment of it are you enforcing exactly?" Claire said dubiously.

"Increment One Dash Doesn't Matter." David said shortly. "It involves blowing this building up. Now, we just need to reset the charges and haul ass…"

His voice trailed off as the ground beneath their feet trembled. High above them, a massive roar echoed.

"What the hell is that?" One ODST asked.

Katy piped up. "Sounds like gunships. Covenant gunships. It almost sounds like they're leaving the area…"

"Why would they be leaving?" Another ODST asked.

David clenched his fists. "Why do rats desert a ship?"

Claire grit her teeth. "Because its sinking." She slapped on her helmet and motioned to her team. "Team, lets move out!"

They raced to the garage exit, partially blocked by rubble. David could barely make out a small gap that the team had cleared away to get in.

"David, what the hell is it?"

"Most likely an anti-matter charge. Hold on." He grabbed a particularly big piece of rubble, grunted, and heaved it away. He motioned towards Claire and Jen. "Ladies first."

The ODST behind him cursed. "Are you fucking shitting me?"

Forty-five seconds later the building imploded from the inside. All ten stories of it collapsed like a stack of cards, crumbling to ground zero in gout of dust and fire. The falling dusk was suddenly illuminated with the flaring white light.

David shielded his eyes, even though they were protected by his visor. His frame jolted as the Warthog hit a bump. Beside him, Jen gripped his arm and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Do you think Lee would have liked going down in flames?" She whispered.

David grasped her hand. "I think he'd appreciate the gesture. Might have been bothered that it was a Covenant bomb and not his own."

"Yeah, he wouldn't have liked that part." She nuzzled into his neck. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Lieutenant."

David glanced over his shoulder. Claire was sitting in the front passenger seat. Her shoulders were slumped, she looked exhausted in the darkening night, but she was real, tangible, alive and in one piece.

_Welcome back indeed._


	10. Chapter 71: One for the Road Part 1

Chapter 7-1: One for the Road (Part 1) 

**[12 September 2551]**

**[Underground Bunker "Refuge Omega", Romagna, Angelus-II]**

**[0120 hours]**

The ride back to the bunker had been uneventful for the ODST's and Spartans- at least, as uneventful as a harrowing race through a city under siege could be. They all made it back in one piece, at the very least.

Claire hadn't spoken a single word to David during the drive. She had fastened her eyes on the ruined street in front of her, yet stole a couple of glances towards the back of the Hog, where David was sprawled. The other Spartan, the small one called Jennifer, sat next to him; David's long arm draped over her armored shoulders. Her head was tucked under his chin. From any angle, it was clear that the two shared an intimacy. What kind of intimacy…one could only speculate.

That was probably what was bothering Claire. A tiny worm of annoyance, like a parasite, had found its way into her brain and her heart, and ate into both every time she looked back and saw the normally cold blooded Spartan- _her _cold blooded Spartan- sharing a small moment of affection with a stranger.

The mere fact that she didn't even understand why this sudden possessiveness was affecting her, pissed her off even more.

But it was no matter. The moment they had pulled into the pitch black of the underground bunker's makeshift garage, David had pulled on his helmet, took charge, and reverted back to his normal reserved self. He had immediately reported to Matt, called Claire over, and then informed both what he had overheard back at the ONI base: the Covenant were deploying a Scarab into the city.

The news was received with a less than enthusiastic reception.

"Son of a bitch!" Claire swore under her breath. Behind her, the tired eyed Corporal she had harassed earlier- Claire had learned his name was Markovich- cursed quite openly, clawing at the air as if he could strangle it.

Keller didn't say anything immediately. He put his hands together in front of his lips as if praying, nodded his head a couple of times, and then smiled slowly. "Well, fuck a duck."

David ran his hands through his hair and drew it away wet with blood. "From what the Covies were saying that Scarab would be landing soon, probably before morning."

"Good." Keller nodded. "Then it'll be so much thematic. Fire burning bright and hot against the cold night sky. It's poetic."

David sighed. "I take that to mean you have a plan?"

"Plan? Me? No. What I have," Matt said, wagging both forefingers to emphasize his words, "what I have, is an opus in the making. A grand symphony of burning beauty. I can already see it."

Claire spat out the gum she was chewing in a very un-lady like gesture. "Cut the bullcrap. Tell us what you're thinking."

Matt waved away her words like gnats. "Patience, patience, Claire. But if you insist, I have one question in turn: does your outfit have a jump-jet detachment? I know HIGHCOM is outfitting ODST troops with jet packs, but how about yours?"

The answer was yes, actually. Claire's platoon, along with all the other ODST units in the battalion, came complete with a squad of specially trained ODST's whose body suits were fitted with low range jump packs. These specialists were often deployed ahead of an assault force on the battlefield to get behind and disrupt enemy lines- a pretty ballsy endeavor, even by ODST standards. Claire's own jump-jet squad was nicknamed "The Hummingbirds". Their leader was a cool eyed Arab Sergeant named Khaled.

"Yeah."

Matt clapped his hands together and rubbed them like a fly does. "Then here's what's going to happen…"

The plan was typical Keller- a mad production dashed with insanity and laden with fire and explosions throughout. Outlandish enough to be possible, and just insane enough to be doable. Go figure.

After each person in the room had received their assignment, Keller had cast a fresh glance towards the Spartan, standing off to one side in the shadows. "David, you look like hell."

A dry laugh emanated from the general area of where the soldier's head was. "Really? I had no idea."

"No, I mean you look more like hell than normal." Keller turned back towards his table of maps and graphs. "Get yourself checked out with the doctor then get some rest."

"Is that an order, Captain Keller?"

"An order? Ah, no. However, if you don't do it, I'll just pull my pistol and put a few rounds into your knee caps. Make sure you get plenty of rest then. Gotta operate at one hundred and ten percent, David."

"Yeah, yeah." David gave a sarcastic salute to the ONI captain, offered a curt nod to Claire, and shuffled out of the command center.

Matt glanced over his shoulder. His blue eyes were twinkling with an amused light. "Excellent job, bringing him back in one piece."

Claire grunted in reply.

Matt continued regardless. "It's especially impressive, considering he was in two pieces when he left."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Claire asked without the vague animosity she felt.

"When he left this morning, you could see in his posture that all he was thinking about was killing the Covenant. He wasn't a man; he was a cardboard cutout of it. He stood like a statue and moved like a robot. Now you're back, and he shuffles and grunts and moves with a tired gait. He's human again." Matt scratched his cheek with long, dirty nails and shrugged. "I'm a little sad actually. I was starting to like the robot."

Claire walked out of the command post without giving him the comment he was practically begging for.

That was nearly over five hours ago. Since then Claire had briefed Sergeant Khaled and his "Hummingbirds", snagged a supply of rations from the stockpile (along with a bottle of liquor that no one seemed to be paying attention to, all alone at the bottom of a cardboard box) and fell asleep next to a makeshift campfire, while Katy and Sugar jabbered on about the upcoming assault. She woke up around one to find the fire cold and her two fellow ODST's asleep, Katy's head snuggled next to Sugars armored shoulder. It as against reg's, but Claire wasn't exactly in the mood to be enforcing protocol that a bunch of big-wigs back on Reach or Earth had made in the comfort of their temperature regulated office spaces. She got up, stretched, and remembered the bottle she had snagged. Picking it up from her rucksack, she walked quietly through the tunnel, sidestepping sleeping civilians whose worn faces were relaxed with heavy sleep. She found a small alcove off to the side, far from prying eyes, and sitting down on the cold floor, she pulled an old fashioned "Zippo" lighter from one of her cargo pockets, flicked it on, and studied the label of the bottle.

The ornate engraving of the glass she had felt earlier, but it wasn't until she was staring the 500 cR price tag in the face that she truly appreciated the fact that she had snagged a very special bottle of whiskey. Claire glanced at the luminous dial of her combat watch. 13:25. If the Scarab hadnt landed yet it still had plenty of time too. No sense in getting wasted before a big op like this. Still, that whiskey…

_One drink, just to calm the nerves_, she told herself. Breaking the seal on the cap, she unscrewed the cap and sniffed. The alcohol had a heavy odor, thick but not unpleasant. Claire took a sip. Truth be told, she didn't know much about whiskey, but this…_Damn! _This was certainly fine.

She settled back into a comfortable position and took another sip. She'd go and find David in a moment. Right now, she needed this moment alone.

A moment was exactly what she got.

Her ears picked up a low whistle, right above her. By now she was too awake to move suddenly. Her eyes flitted upwards. A towering shadow, framed against the faint half-light, loomed over her. Out of the darkness a massive gauntlet offered her a cup.

She smiled, heartbeat returning to normal. Putting the bottle aside, she accepted the cup. "Thank you," she said, but not really saying it, more mouthing it (_Which, _her mind reflected, _was absolutely ridiculous in the pitch dark)_.

"Anytime," David's voice cut through the dimness of the tunnel with gruff ease. Carefully, he stepped over Claire's legs and lowered himself to the ground, sipping from his own cup.

Claire drank deeply from the cup, cool water cleaning away the subtle burning left by the whiskey like water over smoldering coals. They sat in that companionable silence for what seemed like quite awhile, the only sounds coming from the gentle snores and occasional sleepy mutterings from the refugees, twenty feet from them and a million miles away. The two soldiers, Spartan and ODST, pondered on this as they took sips from their cups and fumbled for the words they were failing to grasp, words that each felt needed to be said.

It was David who finally broke down. Years on his own, both figuratively and literally, had inured him to silence, but silence between himself and someone he considered a close friend was something that disturbed him in ways even torture at the hands of alien soldiers could not.

"So you're alive." He grit his teeth the instant the words left his mouth. _A billion words in the English language, and you come up with that?_

Claire smiled, a smile that could almost be felt in the dark. "Yeah, I am. I was wondering if you'd notice."

David blew air out of his nose. "Yeah, I always was slow on the uptake when it came to practical jokes." A faint starchiness had entered his voice. Claire picked up on it immediately and her throat tightened. She loosened it with a long sip of water.

David continued. "I suppose it's only fair. I disappear; you should have the right to do the same. Tit for tat, as that old saying goes, right?"

Now her jaw tightened. "You done?" She whispered, not fiercely, but with enough force to cause a normal person to flinch. She didn't wait for him to respond. "Good, then you can go. Cause if all you came over here with your lousy cup of water for was to try and make me feel guilty about something I had almost no control over, then congratulations Spartan-009," she spat, placing special emphasis on the Double-Oh Nine, "mission accomplished."

She had roused herself, back ramrod straight, as she spoke. Now she slouched back and looked towards the rest of the refugee's in the tunnel, wondering if any of them had heard the echoes of her words. Her eyes fell on one boy, so young his ball's probably hadn't dropped yet, sleeping in a corner, cradled next to a tired looking woman with dirty blonde hair. The woman was wide awake, one long fingered hand gently stroking the boys hair. Both had faces that looked like the faces of corpses, drawn and faded gray with premature age. She wondered if the woman- the boy's mother, she assumed- had heard her.

David sighed, a slow patient sound. "No, no, it's more like mission failed. Making you feel guilty was the last thing I had on my mind. It's funny, how the furthest things on our minds end up being the things we act upon. Must be subconscious or something." He took a sip of water, throat moving. "I'm sorry."

Now it was Claire's turn to sigh. "Yeah, me too."

"Why? I'm the one who started it."

"Yeah, but I'm the one who continued it." Claire drained the last drops of water from her cup and put it down. It clanged gently against the ground. After staring deeply into its interior for a moment, a thought suddenly occurred to her. She chuckled.

"What is it?"

She grinned in the darkness. "You realize that this was how our conversations were back when we first met? You'd say something bull headed, I'd get pissed off, and you'd have to crawl on your belly and beg forgiveness before we could actually start talking."

"Great." He groaned. "We're back at square one."

"Damn right we are." She chuckled, leaned back, and picked up the bottle of scotch and took a sip.

She heard David shift in his place. "What's that?"

"Hmm?" She quickly lowered the bottle. "Nothing."

He took a deep sniff. "Whiskey?"

She hesitated. "Yeah?" His voice was unreadable.

"Hmm."

"Yep."

"Expensive?"

"Five hundred credits."

"Humph. In other words, an arm and a leg."

She relaxed; his voice held no reproach, the way it might with any other soldier catching an officer drinking (_in an Area of Operations, Avalos? What in the pluperfect hell are you thinking?_, her mind yelled in the voice of her drill sergeant from back in Basic). It held only the rare warmth that she remembered, the warmth that came with a crinkling bemusement around his normally cold eyes, as if he was amused by his own good humor. It was warmth that she had almost forgotten, yet it was all rushing back, like music that had been deeply ingrained in her mind.

What he said next, however, shocked her back into reality.

"Can I try it?"

She almost choked, coughed, and wiped her mouth. "What?"

"Could I have a sip of that whiskey?" He said again, patiently.

She hesitated, still not sure if she was hearing him right or if the alcohol was starting to impact her hearing, then passed him the bottle. "Sure."

He grasped the bottle, then hesitated. A noise of indecision stuck in his throat. "Ah," he mumbled, then picked up his now empty cup and poured out a small sample (although a better phrase would have been "rather generous shot").

"You don't have to do that. I don't have cooties." She teased playfully

"Yeah, but I might." He shot back automatically.

"I think I can handle cooties."

He sighed. "Yeah, I'm afraid of that too." There was silence as he took a sip.

"Well?"

"That is a pretty good whiskey. I don't think its worth five hundred credits, but its pretty good whiskey nonetheless." He took another sip. "Smooth."

She accepted the bottle as he passed it back to her, then screwed the cap on again; time and experience had taught her that alcohol mixed with two people could have pretty dire consequences, even if one of those people was an emotionally crippled Spartan.

"I never took you for the drinking type."

"It's a bad habit I acquired recently."

"Oh? What brought that about?"

"Truthfully? You did."

Claire's head shot up, her eyes widening. David seemed to sense her shock, and continued, his voice sad, gruff, and bitterly ironic.

"Yeah, after you and the rest of the _Wolfs Sun_ was declared KIA, I sort of sunk into this…frenzied period, I guess would be the best phrase for it. I started to drink, heavily, for no reason at all. I started to snap, lash out at people for no particular reason. And that was off the battlefield. On the battlefield, I went berserk. I killed a lot of aliens. Grunts, Jackals, Elites, those big ugly Brute bastards- I would dive headfirst into a firefight and kill anything in my way. I just wanted to shed some blood. After awhile, it didn't really matter whose it was."

His voice cracked on the last syllable, and he hid his embarrassment behind a long, slow sip of whiskey. Claire shifted uncomfortably, cleared her throat, and spoke the first words that came into her head. "I would've thought…Celsius, she would have kept you inline…?"

"She would have, if she had lived that long."

Claire blinked. "David, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Seven years, that's the standard lifespan of a 'smart' AI. After that, and they literally start thinking themselves to death. I guess you could call it technologies version of cancer, cause it killed her just as slowly and as painfully as cancer would." He chuckled, a dry, bitter sound. "I didn't start to accept it until she started speaking in combinations of Latin and German. By then it was too late for any form of closure, or anything that would have made this easier for me. So I told her it was an honor serving with her, uploaded her into her data crystal, and ground it to powder. Threw what was left into the river outside my barracks."

Claire listened to this sober testimony, her heart growing slightly heavier with every syllable. On one level, she realized that it was just plain silly- a soldier this broken up over the termination of an artificial intelligence, a glorified computer program. But on a deeper level, one that she had not tapped since she had watched high school graduate Matt Keller disappear into the ether and leave her with a broken heart to try and mend, she understood it completely- a man with few friends and fewer family lost the closest thing he had to one or the other. It wasn't sad, or even pathetic; it was _offensive_. If God was out there (and Claire had already begun to doubt whether he actually was) this should have been something he would have prevented; he would have looked down from his shining throne, seen David at whatever point when he had been left alone to fend for himself, and said, "Hold on, that's not how the script goes. I got to set this shit right!" and _POOF!_ time would rewind, and David would be back at the start, safe, warm, with whatever family he had before the universe slapped him upside the head and sent him into the cold embrace of Admiral Bristow and the f#king ONI.

In Claire's line of thinking, the mere fact that this had been allowed to happen, was offensive. Sorrow she could deal with; but offensive, offensive broke her up inside.

But this was a concept that she couldn't fully articulate at the best of times, certainly not in the early morning, trapped in an underground tunnel of a besieged planet and the influence of alcohol already playing hell with her thinking _(damn whiskey)_, so all she could get out was, "I'm real sorry, David."

"It's not your fault, not really."

"Yeah, well, I still feel like shit anyway." She fiddled with the bottle in her lap. "And I'm sorry about Lee, too."

"Wasn't your fault either. Statistically speaking, he should have been dead on his first mission. It was that old luck of the Spartans that kept him alive all this time. Jennifer too. My fault for getting close to them. My fault for getting close to you, Katy, Atwood, Schaefer, too." He added, as an afterthought.

"That's not something you can help, David. No one can work three months with the same team without getting close to them." Claire murmured patiently. "And don't try to argue me with some macho Spartan bullshit, it won't work. Much as you try pretend, you're still human."

"Maybe. But who says I was pretending?"

Now it was Claire's turn to sigh. "You are in-f*#king-corrigible, I just want you to know that." She lapsed into silence and toyed with the bottle in her hands. Something else was nagging at her, something that related to David's arm- more specifically, his arm and the shape it took wrapped around the shoulders of that smaller Spartan, Jennifer. As usual, when something was nagging at her inside, she got out in the open immediately. "What about Jennifer?"

"What about her?"

"I saw the way she held you, back there in the ONI base. She likes you, a lot. It'd be obvious to anyone, even to a silly SOB like you." Claire tried to make out the expression on his face, etched in profile in the dim light, and got nothing for her trouble.

David was silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, and then spoke. "Yeah, it is obvious. Back on Agricola, when you first showed up, she said…" He chuckled, quietly, at the memory, "she said that we ought to get some R & R together. She was bleeding out, I thought she was delirious. It was stupid to think that, in hindsight."

Claire was now exceedingly uncomfortable. "Well, I just thought you should now…"

"I'm not as silly as you think." David said simply. "I know she likes me. She might love me, if that's possible for a Spartan. The III-series didn't receive the same treatments as me or the others, so it might be possible that her emotions, what's there, are still functioning."

Claire remembered the look in Jennifer's eyes when she told her she could tag along to rescue David. It was as if she had told her she could go through the Pearly Gates and on into Heaven. "I'd say it's very possible." She took another sip from the bottle. "Did you ever…I mean, did you…?"

David was so silent she started to wonder if he had somehow drifted off into sleep. Then came the answer.

"Yes. Once."

Then he explained.

_Six months earlier. A small habitable moon colony that the Covenant had taken a fancy to. Lee and Jennifer had been permanently assigned to his outfit by this time._

_ Midnight, maybe 0100 hours. Time had lost most of its meaning. Covenant armor had been trading fire with UNSC artillery on and off for the past twelve hours. He found himself flinching every time the bombardment flared up, tensing up in the lulls in-between. Lee and Jennifer were doing even worse. The civilians had been evacuated; they were stuck in this underground bunker they were in until one or both sides annihilated each other._

_ He is jettisoned out of a thin depression of sleep as the bombardment starts up again. The high octave shrieks of UNSC 440's compete with the reverberating bass whine of Covenant plasma mortars; the cacophony of sounds tore through his whole being and set his teeth on edge. He shifts, feeling his shoulder tighten where a stray energy bolt had broken through his armor and burned the skin. His upper body armor was lying in a heap next to him. Next to impossible to sleep with it on. _

_ Lee is on the other side of the bunker, trying to jury-rig a communications uplink and call in an evac. He's been at it for six hours._

_ His head snaps to the side as a low moan issues from his right. Jennifer, covered in a space blanket, thrashes in a sleepy struggle against the noise her brain was screaming against. She had taken a high speed Carbine round to the abdomen earlier and her most of her armor had been removed as the team medic had examined her. _

_ He looks away as the blanket slides off her. She's wearing a gray tank top and a pair of…what had Claire once called them? "Short-shorts"? That sounded about right. Either way, he shouldn't be looking. Not simply because it was bad taste to be staring, but also because too much was visible, and strange feelings, the likes of which he had never felt before, were causing his stomach to tighten._

_ Then Jennifer screams. It's a high, keening note that somehow rises above the noise of artillery strikes. _

_ "Private!" The bark comes out of a mouth that doesn't seem to be a part of him. He scrambles over and grabs her by her shoulders, shaking her- albeit as gently as he can manage._

_ "Wake up! WAKE UP!"_

_ To his surprise, he see's she is already awake. Her eyes are pale and frightened. He is struck dumb by the pain he beheld in them._

_ "Are you okay?"_

_ "No." She whispers shakily. "No, I'M NOT OKAY!"_

_ "Yeah, this I can see." Those words are said on reflex; the thunderous noise of the artillery combined with the sheer power of those frightened eyes had snap frozen his synapses processes._

_ Clumsily, he puts his arms around her, feeling her shoulder blades, like sharp bird wings, through the thin material of her tank top. She buries her face in his chest, sobbing but no tears coming out._

_ "Jen, you have to calm down. We're going to be out of here soon, I promise…"_

_ "I can't stand it anymore." She sobs into his T-shirt. "I keep waking up to this FUCKING SHELL FIRE!" She screams these last words, raising her head towards the ceiling. "JUST STOP IT ALREADY!"_

_ The bombardment continues regardless, sending peals of thunder shaking down to the core of the bunker._

_ "Jen, please." He whispers into her ear. He cups her face in his calloused hands, looks her straight in the eyes. The sheer terror, now mixed with pure unadulterated hatred, was still there, but he matches her gaze with his own. Gradually her eyes focus on his, and the high voltage energy fades from them. _

_ "I know you're tired. I am too. You're not alone in this, I swear. I'm right here with you," he says, looking straight into her eyes, almost lambent in the dim light. "I'm right here with you."_

_ She says nothing, but wraps her arms around him, tucking her head under his chin. He hugs her back, trying to transfer some of the warmth he feels into her._

_ "This can't go on forever." She whispers into his neck. He feels his skin tighten as- goose bumps, are they called?- spread across his spine._

_ "It wont," He murmurs into her hair. The scent of shampoo mixed with her sweat tickled his nostrils. It suddenly occurs to him that he can feel her warmth through her clothes. Almost at random, he tries to remember the last time he had a drink of water. His mouth seems pretty dry, must have been a good couple of hours ago._

_ The artillery fire cuts off with one last good bang, a shriek from another 440, and in its wake the relative silence underground was deafening. Jen looks up into his face, her eyes wet. She manages a weak smile._

_ He finds that he lacks the strength to smile back. "You okay now?"_

_ "No- but I'm getting there. You?"_

_ "Same." Her eyes are captivating him again, freezing his thoughts. He twists his head to look away, and as he does, his lip brush hers. _

_ He freezes, his heart thumping painfully now in his chest; he's sure she can feel it through his shirt. He turns back, see's the blissful expression on her face. He tries to get some words out, perhaps an apology, and can only manage a dry stutter. "Eh…"_

_ They both lean forward and their lips brush a second time. She closes her eyes and nudges her nose against his. _

_ Something inside him breaks down. He cradles her face in his hands and kisses her deeply on the mouth, feeling excitement and terror exploding like a Shiva warhead in his chest as she kisses him back. She rises out of his grip and settles into his lap, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. The warmth of her mouth over his seems to be burning and freezing him at the same time, intense heat encased in intense cold all at once. _

_ They both fall to the foldout sleeping mat, lips locked together, oblivious to the rest of the world._

_ Outside, the artillery barrage heats up again._

_ Neither one of them notice._

He finished his story and found himself with the same dry mouth he had had on that night six months ago. The whiskey had done him no good, not that it ever had before.

In the darkness (his surgically enhanced eyes adapted better than most) Claire was studying him, trying to read him. David stayed silent, waiting for her response.

Finally she spoke, with a voice that was oddly hollow. "Wow, you Spartans do have some fun."

A normal person would have blushed. David merely shrugged with one shoulder. "Sometimes." He took another sip of whiskey to loosen his throat. "But that was a one time thing," he added quickly, magically forgetting the two other times, once on board an evac ship three months ago, once a month ago in their barracks on Reach.

"Maybe I believe you, and maybe I don't. That's my own business." Claire purred.

"You don't believe me." He stated flatly.

Now it was Claire's turn to shrug. "Well, a couple of things I've learned over the years is that soldiers are still human, no matter what outfit they belong to you or what their training is. And sometimes, when soldiers hit a life-or-death situation or are pushed to the breaking point, the best way to calm down is to celebrate life in the most basic way possible: procreation."

"Hmm," David grunted. "It sounds like you're reducing us to nothing more than animals driven by instinct."

Now her gaze was distant as well. "Sometimes I think we are." She looked away, wrestling with her next problem. David had told the truth, the one she had already suspected. She could only repay the favor in kind…

"You got something else to add?" He questioned.

"What would give you that idea?"

"Your silence speaks for itself."

Claire took another sip, to steel her nerves. The memory she was dredging up, considering sharing now with David, was a painful one at best. It wasn't something she was proud of.

"Yeah." She said. "I've got one more thing to add."

_Onboard the stolen Covenant ship. Two days after they had detonated the experimental warhead, six days after they had hit the groundside of that shitty little moon in the middle of nowhere, one week after the Wolfs Sun, with her good Captain, hit the far side of the that shitty little moon and sent a jet of flame rocketing almost into the atmosphere._

_ She was striding through the purple-blue hued corridors of the ship towards the expansive space area that Keller had requisitioned as his 'quarters'. No, 'striding' wasn't the right word; 'stalking' was more like it, stalking through the corridors with the long, smooth legged gait of a jungle cat, muscles sheathed in smooth skin and eyes feral under her dark sheen of hair. _

_ Most of the crew was tinkering in what passed for the CIC, with considerable aid from the bloated, floating Covenant "Engineers" (floating squids was more like it). The combat elements of the survivors- Marines, ODST's, NAVSPECWAR operatives- were cadging food or sleep in the drop ship launch bay._

_ The hatch in front of her slid open with a quiet hiss. Keller stood over a makeshift workbench, examining navigational charts or something or other. His back was to her. _

_ "Yes?"_

_ Claire leaned against the bulkhead, her face vacant and interior. "One hundred ships patrolling space between this sector and Reach, and you just had to pick the one I'm on. Is that right?"_

_ "That's more than right in fact. That is dead right. In fact, that is so right it should be wrong." Keller turned to face her, a gently ironic smile on his lips. "Frankly, when I was given choice on which ship I could 'commandeer', I saw the Wolf's Sun's vector and couldn't look away. It seems I'm a slave to instincts, just like the rest of us."_

_ "Uh-huh." Claire said dismissively. She took a few confident steps into the quarters, her movements languid but purposeful. She shook her head sadly. "I don't know what happened to you, Matt. You used to be one of the good guys, somebody I could trust."_

_ Now it was Matt's turn to shake his head. "Claire, Claire, Claire," he purred condescendingly. "you have it all wrong. I'm still a good guy here. Maybe you just need to redefine your definition of good."_

_ "That's straight up BS, and it's coming straight out of your mouth. Nobody redefine's good…"_

_ "Nobody redefines good? Human's have been redefining good since the word existed. All it takes to redefine good is a situation where it needs to be redefined to suit the needs of whoever's using it. Once you think about it logically, there is no good. And if there isn't any good, then there can't be any evil either."_

_ The devout Roman Catholic in Claire was irked by Matt's blatant disregard for the concepts of good and evil, but that was beside the point now. This was a game that two could play, and she intended to come out on top. "Well if there's no good, and no evil, then what else is there?"_

_ "Power." He said the word with near religious reverence. "Power over other people, power over your friends and enemies, power to use and power to exploit. I tell ya, I could write a book about the subject, except I think some asshole already beat me to the punch."_

_ She takes another step or two towards him. "Power over people? Through what, force? Violence?" She's close enough to be standing in his shadow now. _

_ "Not even that. A person desires another person, and that person has power over the one who wants them. You should know; you had that power over me once."_

_ She's close enough to reach out and touch his uniform. She makes no move. "Does it pain you to admit that?"_

_ He takes a step towards her now, and wags a finger in her face. "Still have that fire in you? I always liked that about you." He reaches out and touches her shoulder. _

_ He's on edge, she realizes. His fingers are shaking, minute vibrations that are almost impossible to pick up through the fabric of her sleeve. _

_ "Power over another person. It's intoxicating, isn't it?" She murmurs, then stretches on her tiptoes and locks her lips to his._

_ He responds immediately, almost violently, wrapping his long arms around her. She can taste his excitement through his mouth. No matter how much he might pretend otherwise, he wanted her. _

_ …Intoxicating._

Claire finished her story quietly, contemptuously, hating that playback of that moment that ran through her mind.

David's expression, hidden in the shadows he had seated himself in, was all but unreadable. He hadnt made a sound while Claire recounted her encounter with Keller onboard the stolen Covenant ship. Now in the wake of her tale, the silence felt deafening. She bit her lower lip, waiting for his reaction.

"That's it?"

Third surprise of the evening.

"What do you think?" she asked without feeling.

He answered with slow words, picking them out carefully. "I think, that if you had gone any farther than what you just described, you wouldn't have wanted to tell me in the first place."

Claire shook her head. "I don't know why I did that, looking back on it now. I just felt…powerless, completely fucking powerless, after everything finally ground to a halt. The _Wolfs Sun_, the NOVA bomb, everything." She sighed, fighting the tears that were starting to threaten now. "I know I'm a soldier, I understand what comes with the territory. Following orders is nine-tenths of doing my job. But that feeling…"

"The feeling that you're just a pawn on a chessboard?"

"Yeah," she hiccupped. "Call it what you like, but that feeling sucks balls."

David let out a half cough, half hoarse laugh in the darkness. It took a moment to recompose himself. Claire shoved him- or tried to, he was too heavy to be shoved- with the tip of her boot. "_Pendejo!_"

David took a deep breath, still chuckling on the inside. "My apologies Claire. I wasn't laughing at you. Its just that expression…"

"What? 'sucks balls'?"

This time David had to clap his gauntlet over his mouth to stifle the torrent of laughter. He shook in place, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, wondering in the back of his mind what exactly was so funny about it.

"Stop it!" Claire whispered fiercely, then fell to laughing herself. For the space of two minutes, the only sounds were those of the two soldiers muffled guffaws.

Once they had canned their good humor and caught their breath, David wiped his nose and smiled shyly. "Thanks Claire. I hadn't had a good laugh in a long time."

"Hey, you're not the only one." Claire slid a cigarette into her mouth. As she ignited her Zippo lighter, the flame caught the sheen of David's armor. "Hmm."

"What?"

"Your armor. It looks…different."

"Yeah." David shifted into a more comfortable position. "During the incursion, I sent after action reports to Bristow back on Reach. He had his tech team review them, and the second I got back they started hitting me with all kinds of accessories and modifications."

"Looks like an extreme makeover to me." In the light of the weak flame, Claire noticed that the armors chest plate was slightly bulkier, more intricate, with a tactical webbing and a sheathed knife attached to it. The standard shoulder pauldrons had been replaced with an asymmetric set, the left one being much larger and concave shaped. His helmet, cradled in his lap, had changed entirely: gone was the yellow jack o' lantern smile, replaced by a squat, rugged looking helmet with distinct mouth guards and two narrow, grim looking eyes in the place of a visor.

David tapped his helmet. "The 'Rogue'. I picked it up a couple of months ago. Thought it was time to stop screwing around with that Smiley-face visor."

"Okay," Claire murmured, then pointed towards his right hand, "but, what the hell is that?"

The forearm had been supplemented with what looked like a buckler type contraption. The standard gauntlet had been replaced with a shining, brutal looking metal glove. Sharp ridges lined the fingers, and rounded knobs covered each area over the knuckles.

David smiled and flexed his fingers. "UNSC/Cestus, a little device the tech team built especially for me."

"For what?"

"I think their exact words were, 'In case you ever feel the need to ditch your gun and pound shit into pulp with your fists'."

Claire could understand the bluntness of the description. The Cestus was a brutal looking contraption; in the light of the Zippo's flame, shining in mute oiliness, it seemed to speak for itself: _I could be plenty fucking mean if I wanted to be. You bet your fur I could. Just give me a chance to show you…_A ripple of unease echoed down her spine.

Then her eyes flicked to David's. He was examining his right hand with grim respect, as if he heard what the Cestus had said and took it to heart- while simultaneously promising himself that he would never give it the chance it seemed to desire. Just looking at that expression made Claire feel a bit better. David understood the danger that weapon presented. He would respect it, and control it. He was still in control, regardless of much he had fucked up before. He was still the warrior she remembered.

She shifted once more, pressing her toes against the opposite wall. The whiskey had warmed her and she felt drowsiness start to eat at her vision again. She murmured, "Tell me more about your armor mods."

"You don't want to hear about all the technical bull."

"Yeah I do. I want to hear what the techs had to say about your other accessories, like that hard case on your hip."

David chuckled warmly. " 'Hard case on my hip'. Yeah, one technician- a young guy, with a really active imagination and a penchant for dirty jokes- had a lot to say about the hard case…"

So once again, in the middle of a dark, dangerous combat zone, Claire was lulled to sleep by the vaguely gruff, surprisingly animated, and overall comforting tones of David's voice as he talked about his armor. As she drifted away, she thought about _Déjà vu_, and a faint uneasiness pricked her, _Time seems to be circling on itself. What will the rest of the night bring?..._

'The rest of the night' started approximately a half hour later. As David lounged against the wall, trying to sleep so his battered body could recharge and rejuvenate, his enhanced ears picked up a string of quiet words, coming in the general direction of Captain Keller's makeshift Operations Center.

_"Sir…? Sensors in Sector Gamma 6-3 just picked up a big blip…"_

_ "How big?"_

_ "Huge, sir. Like, off the fuckin' map."_

_ "Can they ID it?"_

_ "Hang on…oh, shit…"_

_ "Ultra heavy?"_

An answer so quiet he cannot hear it.

_"About time...I was starting to get antsy..."_

A dreadful banging- the sound of steel pipe hitting steel pipe- echoed down the tunnel, jerking women and children rudely out of sleep. David's eyes snapped open and he rose to his feet in one fluid movement. Claire uttered a sleepy "uh?" and stumbled to her feet. "What the hell?..."

The banging went on for another ten seconds before subsiding. Keller's voice, cheerful in a way that was anything but comforting, echoed down the tunnel. "General alert, ladies and gentlemen! All military and resistance combat elements prep for battle! Squad leaders, assemble in the operations center lickety-split!"

Claire picked up her bottle of whiskey. "Scarabs here." Her voice was flat.

David took a moment to respond. In that moment, the space of maybe three seconds, he had mentally analyzed his physical condition and reasoned that he was maybe at 60% full strength, about 52% combat readiness, wounds, exhaustion, and all. If Keller's half baked, half insane cockamamie "symphony" were to hit a snag, and they had to improvise, he might not be able to pick up any slack that came his way. He also reasoned that if things were to go to Plan B, and Claire's life was put in jeopardy, he would immediately replace guarding her as his primary objective, completing the mission as secondary, and getting everyone out alive- himself included- as tertiary.

All this went through his head in the space of three seconds as he picked up his helmet. "Yeah, I think you're right."

"Go time." Claire sounded dead tired but resolute. She unscrewed the cap and bit off a snort. She offered the bottle to him. "One for the road?"

A memory suddenly clarified itself in David's mind. During the Hydra Incursion, the hey-day of TORN VICTOR, there had been an Air Force Commando named Paulson. A quiet guy who liked his cigarettes. Before one ground operation, David had found himself in the loading bay next to Paulson. Paulson had lit up (against regs, but really, who was around to give a damn?) and offered the pack to David. "One for the road, sir?" he had said. David had politely declined; Paulson was KIA forty-five minutes later. A Needler Carbine quill had punctured his armor and lodged itself into his lung, and he drowned in his own blood before the medic's could get to him. He had taken his One for the Road, and died not an hour later.

David shook his head no. "Save it. I'll take one after we blow up that Scarab."

Claire glanced at him curiously, then shrugged. "Alright." She grabbed her helmet. "I'm gonna get my squad together and meet you in the Ops Center."

"See you there." He looked after her as she disappeared into the darkness.

It didn't bother him that she didn't understand why he had refused One for the Road, or the implications of his asking for One after the Road.

He intended to survive this night.

**[12 September 2551]**

**[City Center, Romagna, Angelus-II]**

**[0204 Hours]**

Captain Matthew Keller's breath curled like smoke in the cold night air. He puffed out more steam, smiling to himself as the delicate clouds curled around his head.

_Where there's smoke there's fire._

No fire yet, but there will be. Yes, all the fire any man could ever want. Flames to warm a man's cold, cold heart on this bitter black night.

Beside him, the weary eyed Corporal Markovich shivered visibly. Standard issue Marine ballistic armor blocked a variety of bullets, shrapnel, and to some extent plasma, but it couldn't chase away the chill of a winter nights wind.

"What do you think Corporal?" His voice was as cold and dry as the air that curled around his head.

Markovich coughed, a dry, rattling sound. "I say its bunk sir. Either we're gonna get spammed, the Covies are gonna get spammed, or a miracle happens and we both get spammed." Markovich, like many other noncoms in the field, didn't seem to be afraid of articulating his inner thoughts.

Keller adjusted the heavy rain cape draped over one shoulder. It fluttered in the night wind, giving him the profile of a dark hero watching over his city.

_No, no dark hero. David's our dark hero tonight. _

The Spartan had walked into the ops center looking like he had gone twelve rounds with a heavyweight boxer in a blending machine, in no condition to be anywhere except a hospital. His shoulders were set, however, and his eyes held their same grim determination that had become characteristic of him. Keller had looked at him and suggested (with equal parts humor and seriousness) that maybe he should sit this one out. He smiled more broadly as he remembered the Spartans response.

_You sit me out and half of those Hummingbirds wont ever fly again, and you goddamn well know that. I'm going, and I'm coming back alive, me and every one of those ODST's_

"Every one of those ODST's" happened to include Claire.

They were nearby, David and Claire and the Hummingbirds, only about three hundred meters off, perched on two rooftops on opposite sides of the main causeway. It was a wide causeway, and beautiful in an efficient, ergonomic sense.

_This whole city is beautiful_, he thought with a childlike wonder as he gazed at David and Claire with one group of Hummingbirds, Khaled and another group on opposite sides. _David is right in watching over it. He really is a dark hero._

But he couldn't have this city to watch over, not only because he didn't belong in one place, but because Keller was planning to blow it up and burn it down in about a half hours time. And that was also right, because this city, this whole Godforsaken planet, was going to burn, and Keller would rather be the one to burn it than the unimaginative, inartistic Covenant. No style, no sense of flair and showmanship.

Speaking of which…

He pressed his hand to his earpiece. "Alright kiddies, the show is going to start soon. Are we all in our places with our sunshiny faces?"

"Assault team in place, for what good it does, Captain." Claire's voice floated disdainfully over the comm.

"Ground team in position. Waiting on your go." This response came from teams of troopers and militia, armed with SPNKR rockets, salvaged Covenant Fuel Rod Guns, and scores of Plasma grenades, hidden in the middle floors and ground levels of abandoned buildings lining the causeway.

"Scarab bait in position, not that there's any Scarab in sight sir." Sergeant Bridger's voice sounded slightly muffled. "We've been through the target sector and two others on each side and no dice. You sure you sensors didn't just fuck up and send us on a wild goose chase?"

"No, no they didn't fuck up." Keller said this so quietly and so earnestly Bridger chose not to respond. "Keep looking, and don't worry."

"Why, cause its all going according to plan?" David chimed in, sounding exhausted even over the comm.

"No, because its not going according to plan."

Another five minutes of dead silence passed before Bridger's voice crackled over the channel.

"Fuck my sainted mother."

Keller smiled dreamily into the cold, clear darkness.

Bridger continued, voice lowered to a tense whisper. "I got eyes on target, repeat, eyes on target. And it is the biggest, fattest goddamn cocksucker Scarab you ever laid eyes on."

"Details, details, details, details…" Keller said impatiently.

"Its got a combat air patrol with it. Phantom gunship, flanked by a squad of Banshees. Four, I count four. Got four Ghosts milling around its legs. Its heading east along Grid Gamma 6-1."

Keller listened to this, hand to his ear, with a bored expression. He rolled his neck in his socket and gave the order. "Play time. Be the rabbit, Sergeant Bridger."

"I take it back. Fuck my sainted father." Bridger pronounced the word _fadder_.

"Do it."

"Goddamnit…" Bridger breathed over the comm. "Alright, rabbit team, lets go. Weapons hot."

Two kilometers to the east of Keller's rooftop vantage point, there was a thin, muffled roar as Sergeant Bridger and a dozen volunteers, riding in a standard LRV, a Gauss 'Hog, a Troop Transport Hog (incidentally, the same one Claire had driven earlier that evening), and a civilian truck jury rigged with an HMG, opened fire with everything they had: 12.7mm MG rounds, 25mm Aluminum shells, 7.62's and 105mm HEAT shells from a single SPNKR launcher. The flurry of projectiles hit and destroyed two Ghosts and caught the attention of the Scarab and its air patrol. The Scarabs main gun adjusted trajectory and looked down upon the cluster of human vehicles like an apocalyptic insect.

"I think we got its attention."

Across and to the left of Keller's vantage point, Claire listened with rapt attention as Bridger and his team started playing chicken with the 20,000 ton Scarab.

"Collinson, Roberts, flank around and get in back of her. Steer her to me and Reyes. Watch that nose! Bitch is charging up her main cannon!"

There was a mechanical scream and a resonating boom as the Scarab lifted its legs and began moving, ever so slowly, being prodded by the four smaller vehicles racing around its base.

A bright light exploded in the distance; the Scarab discharged its main gun. Bridger cackled madly, echoing over the comm. "Too early, you ugly _crotch!_ Reyes, adjust your gun and hit that cannon, see if you can make it flinch!"

Claire shook her head. "He's really getting into the heat of the moment." She said to David, standing at her right.

David had been listening to the chatter as well, but with a less intensive interest. He had been rummaging around a med kit, slapping together various components- epinephrine shot, caffeine and glucose supplements, vial of morphine- and, mixing them into a single syringe, injected it into his armor's Biofoam dispenser. He'd forgotten to load the dispenser with the healing agent before leaving the underground base, and he figured his concoction, which would dull the pain from his still-burning wounds and sharpen his fatigued mind and body, would be a half-decent substitute.

"It's the adrenaline." He said as he felt the artificial adrenaline make its way through his veins. "He doesn't have time to be scared. There's no past or future; there's only now, and whatever the next five seconds brings."

Five seconds later, Collinson screamed over the comm. "Can't shake these Banshees! Roberts, give me some covering fi…"

There was the dull boom of a Banshee's fuel rod cannon firing, and Collinson was silenced in a burst of static. Another voice screamed. "You sons of bitches!" followed by the sharp electric snap of a Gauss cannon shot.

"Collinson is down, repeat, Collinson is down!" Bridger roared.

"You can't make a cake without breaking a few eggs." Keller's voice, sharpened with a slightly nasal quality by the comm., held disinterest and nothing more.

Claire glared in his general direction before turning to face David. His visor was depolarized and his eyes were frowning with concentration.

"What do you think?"

David took a moment to answer. "Five minutes."

"What?"

"Five minutes to get this done. Three minutes, give or take, to get the Scarab into the kill zone, five seconds to board, thirty seconds to neutralize topside crew, forty-five seconds to neutralize vehicle crew and disable engines, and forty seconds to exfil and find cover before the thing blows up. Five minutes, tops."

"Nice assessment. And if it takes longer than five minutes?"

David could practically hear his limbs crying with exhaustion. He glanced at his lower HUD: **0212 Hours**. He has been up and operating, organizing, planning, fighting, bleeding, for twenty-two hours, with only about three hours rest in all. Even as his vision sharpens as the combat cocktail he injected takes effect, he can feel the black edges of burnout eating away at the corners of his eyes.

"Then we improvise." David adjusted his grip on his SMG, checked the second one locked to his hip, and rolled his shoulders under the weight of the jetpack. "And pray, if that makes you feel any better."

"I think I'll pray now." Claire slung her assault rifle, reached under her combat harness, and brought out her service tags. A small silver crucifix jingled among them. She crossed herself, and murmured a Our Father, finishing with "…watch over us as we enter the shadow of war, guide us in our hour of darkness, and give us the strength and courage to emerge safely in the light of victory. Amen."

"Poetic." David remarked. "You really think your God can protect us?"

She knocked her gauntlet against his armored shoulder. "He's not 'my' God, _carbon_. He's everybody's God."

"Hmmm." David was quiet for a moment. "You believe in him?"

Claire glanced at him and saw he wasn't being sarcastic. "Yeah, I do. I'm hard pressed sometimes, but that's usually when I need to believe in him the most."

David watched her eyes. They held his steadily. Finally he asked, "You really believe he can protect us?"

A rumble beneath their feet caused them to look up.

Five hundred meters off, a massive shadow trundled around the corner. It paused as a light gathered at its tip, then it was illuminated as it fired a horribly bright column of pulsing white energy. The Scarab was enormous, deadly looking, and headed straight for them.

Claire's left hand stole toward her Assault Rifle as her right hand gripped her tags- and the crucifix- tightly.

"I hope so."

David drew his second SMG and racked the bolt. His voice was hoarse, tired.

"Yeah, me too."


End file.
